


Committed

by Lulu3



Category: Divergent (Movies), Divergent Series - Veronica Roth
Genre: F/M, Mental Institutions, eric and his feelings, inside the mind of eric coulter, long walks to the therapy room, romance in the strangest places
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2018-11-15 12:36:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 116,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11231106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lulu3/pseuds/Lulu3
Summary: When Jeanine's plans for experimenting on divergents accidentally leaks to the factions, she places the blame solely on Eric in an attempt to clear her name. Sentenced to spend time in a mental institution, Eric must either abide by their rules or find a way out before they permanently erase his memory. Will he succeed or will he wind up nothing more than a mindless drone?





	1. Eric and the no good, terrible, rotten day

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you SO much to BK2U for editing this for me. I know this isn't the usual Eric / OC story setup, but I love the idea and I think it'll make for a really interesting read :)

The administration office is rather dull and cold.

I lean back against a hard chair, made more uncomfortable by the fact that my hands are still bound behind my back. I exhale sharply in annoyance, feeling the tie dig into my skin. Harrison had bound them way too tightly, a small, passive attempt to show me who was in charge. His attempt was laughable. I had little regard for him, and his paltry victory of forcing me down did little to subdue me.

Once I am out of here, I'll find him and I'll kill him.

I'll particularly enjoy the way his neck will snap, the way the life will slowly fade from his eyes, my face the very last thing he'll see.

Until then, I'm stuck in this seat across from an unpleasant woman who's quickly typing all kinds of information into the computer in front of her. She's paid little attention to me, and it would be easy to take her down, even with my hands stuck behind my back.

The only thing stopping me are the group of armed guards awaiting my inevitable attempt at escape. They outnumber me by an unfair advantage, and I smirk at the thought that someone decided it would take nine armed men to guard an unarmed me.

I swing my gaze back to the woman typing. She's nothing special, just another Erudite fuck assigned to work in a menial desk job. She probably isn't smart enough to work in the labs, and her failed attempt to land something in the medical field has landed her here, in the lowest of all places.

The clicking of the keyboard is the only sound in the room, and it seems to echo in the tiny space. She squints at the screen before sighing in exasperation.

"How tall are you?" she asks. She finally tears her eyes away from the screen, her face impassive.

I say nothing. I have little patience for this whole ordeal, and I can feel the slow burn of fury bubbling up beneath my skin. I rather dislike being made impaired, and the tie is starting to dig into my skin in a painful manner.

"How much do you weigh?" She's stopped to stare at me now, her fingers hovering above the keyboard. She looks at my face for a moment, perhaps hoping for some sort of compliance; when she finds nothing but a sneer, she looks back at the computer. "You don't have to answer me. They'll give you a physical as soon as we are done here." She shrugs as she finishes typing.

I can feel my eyes narrowing.

Harrison's death will be painful, long, and drawn out.

 

 

"You're responsible for the leaked information. It came from your email, only accessed with your login."

Harrison's words echo in my head, repeating in the most infuriating way possible. It's all I can hear, like someone's implanted it into my brain and set it to repeat until I go insane. Maybe that's the punishment: hearing his voice until I lose my mind.

Maybe if I hadn't smirked in the moment, maybe if I hadn't looked at him in such a mocking manner, dismissing every word that slipped out of his mouth, I wouldn't have wound up here. He knew that this would be a punishment worse than death. The fucker had been gunning for my position for years, and this was just too perfect of an opportunity for him to pass up.

The intake nurse now looks slightly nervous, but she hides it well. She glances at my chart quickly, making small notes on it before she tells me she'll need me to take my jacket off. She bites her lip as she walks around the desk, picking up a pair of sharp scissors. I can feel her as she carefully holds onto my wrists, cutting the ties off, and I note the way she tenses up the minute the ties fall apart. She's waiting for me to bolt, to thrash her out of the way and charge out the door, but I'm not that stupid. Far from it.

I know the guards are outside, just waiting for me to slip up.

But I know better.

This had been Jeanine's idea.

I'd watched her hand still on Max's arm, gently pulling it back before he could protest.

"He should be prosecuted. Not executed," she said, her voice firm. "It'll be better if we show how we're handling this, that we aren't just letting him run rampant through the factions. They all know it would be worse for him to have to face how he became such a monster rather than releasing him from it."

Her eyes fell a few dozen feet away to where my laptop sat. The meeting had been utter bullshit, a setup in which I was to take the fall for Jeanine's plans for the Divergents and the war that was starting. It hadn't taken long before people realized what she was doing, and now there was an uprising. And she was putting my name on it.

I should have shot her then, except that Harrison had the barrel of his gun on my temple before I realized what was going on.

"How do you know it'll work? You really think they'll believe this was Eric's idea?" Harrison was becoming impatient with her. His tone had taken on a sharper edge as he shoved the gun into my skin. He'd never been one to understand Dauntless's surprising loyalty to Jeanine, but he was slowly getting the picture. "They'll want him to pay for those who have suffered."

"They won't. They'll think he doesn't deserve such an easy death. And besides…" Jeanine paused, looking directly at me. "Given his nature, it'll be easy to believe he got a little overzealous. We'll remind them that anyone is capable of buckling under pressure. Even Eric."

I should have lunged for her. I could have head-butted her again, knocking her on her ass and stomping on her face until she stopped talking. I didn't need to learn how I became who I was. The answer wasn't pleasant, but I didn't give a fuck. I'd worked hard for my position, and these idiots were showing me this was nothing more than a game, one which I wasn't about to lose.

Instead, I'd stayed in my chair, my gaze directly on her. I could see the flinch in her posture when we locked eyes. She wasn't invincible, not by a long shot. She'd swallowed, then straightened her shoulders, and I could tell she was mentally preparing herself for the next round of questions.

Next to me, Harrison had shaken his head, his face covered in disbelief.

"You think they'll believe that you want to commit him?"

Those words sparked the tiniest bit of dread in me when the reality of the situation dawned on me. It wasn't fear, but whatever it was felt like sludge in my stomach. I knew what he was asking. Put on trial in Candor meant one thing. I'd be found guilty for sure, and sentenced to whatever Jack deemed appropriate for my actions. But Jeanine's unfortunate idea was far crueler. Her words meant that I should spend time in a mental institution, under the guise of losing my mind, in an attempt to pay for my sins.

It was certainly worse than death.

Our city had only one such place, nestled deep in the woods, and I'd rather be forced to spend my days slowly dying in Abnegation than go there. It had earned the reputation of being rather proficient in breaking people apart. It had three doctors from Erudite who oversaw it, all of them tops in their field. They specialized in resetting the mind by any means necessary, all the way up to erasing memory. They typically used it as a last resort, but in my case, it would most certainly be considered a front runner for treatment.

Jeanine had nodded, her lips twisting downwards almost sympathetically. It had only served to make me furious. I didn't need her pity. There was nothing honorable about her life, and I had no need for her to think she was so above me that I warranted her mercy.

Harrison had hesitated with his response, and I found my lips curling into a grin. Even the deeply ingrained Amity in him couldn't hide his sudden desire to kill me. It would feel good, for that moment. I knew this from experience. There was a rush of adrenaline that would pump through his veins, a fleeting moment of utter euphoria that would slice through him the moment my heart stopped beating. He was close, so close to all of that. It was a dazzling sort of drug, the ultimate authority to play with someone's life.

He never got the chance.

I could still see the disappointment in his eyes when I was helped to my feet by his own pathetic boss.

"It's for the best. When this dies down, we bring him back and he stays quiet. It's a win-win for us all," Max informed him, roughly pulling me up. He didn't hesitate, but I could tell in the way his hand shook that he was worried I'd knock him back.

"Fine. But we don't have long." Harrison's voice is heavy with defeat, his eyes raking around the room. "You'll need to take him now."

We could hear murmurs, and I was well aware that this meeting had gone on longer than they'd planned. There were other leaders here, including Tori and our newest leader, a young man named Grant. A few were upright, staring at the spectacle that was slowly unfolding. "Jack will be here soon to talk about what's happening. He'll want Eric's head on a platter if he sees him."

I smirked at him, pushing down the sinking feeling in my chest. He had no clue that we'd both lost this one. My smirk faded when Max shoved me forward, yanking my arms behind my back. Harrison took advantage of the situation, quickly tying my hands together as tightly as he possibly could. It was out of fear, I'm sure. He wouldn't want me to get loose, knowing he was now all for this plan.

As the minutes passed, I waited for Max to hiss that this was all for show, but it never came. He jerked me along with him, never bothering to undo the ties on my arms as he herded me towards a van. His quickly mumbled explanation that Jeanine would fill me in on what was happening sent a spike of fury through me. Something about a sacrifice, and public image. She'd need to soothe the masses, and my sentencing would help calm them down.

"Are you fucking serious?" I spat the words at him, but he wasn't looking at me. He'd avoided any sort of eye contact, and I knew right then and there that I really was being thrown under the bus to take the fall for this one. "Fuck." I thrashed forwards, hitting the door with my shoulder, hard enough to bruise. "Fuck you."

"Do you have a spouse back in Dauntless?"

The nurse's words jerk me back to reality, and I blink at her, watching as she continues to type even without my answer, the clicking now the only sound in the room as this all becomes a very harsh reality.

 

 

"Step on this scale." The intake woman had been replaced by a nurse in dark scrubs, and her words are nothing less than professional. I grimace at her, watching her gesture to the scale in the corner of the room. It seems suspiciously out of place, but I'm trapped. I step forward slowly, as though walking at my own pace gives me some sort of control over the action.

She records my height and weight wordlessly. I step off the scale and she motions for me to sit back on the exam room table.

"You'll need to undress and put these on." She thrusts a handful of blue clothes at me. "You can leave your shoes on the bed and we'll keep them for you. Everything will be returned to you when you leave." She says the last part sort of condescendingly, as though I won't make it through. I can feel the sneer returning to my face.

"I won't be here long," I inform her coolly.

She doesn't react. I'm sure she's heard it all before, and I can only imagine the sort of things people say to her while they're being prepped for their stay. She smiles in faked sympathy as she leaves, and I stare at the pile of clothes she's handed me.

I have little choice but to put them on.

I shrug off the thick jacket and toss it onto the bed. The heavy fabric mocks me; it's offered a sort of protection for so long, but now it seems useless. This jacket was newer, barely worn, but it has still witnessed enough spilled blood to hold the same sort of security as my others. It's never been more symbolic of anything than right now, the Erudite logo stitched onto the arm of it.

My t-shirt is next, and for a moment I feel utterly exposed in the cold air. I untie the laces of the heavy boots before I pull them off. I slide the dark uniform pants off, shoving them past my hips and kick them aside. I stand there in nothing but boxers, the dark fabric the last semblance of my own being.

The t-shirt she has given me is blue, and it matches the darker blue pajama pants. They remind me of something one would wear while lounging around. They are soft and non-threatening, and the color is supposed to be soothing. I scowl, reluctantly shrugging the shirt over my head and blinking at my shoes.

I have the urge to put them back on. Being barefoot makes me feel uneasy — unarmed and ultimately defenseless — though it's not nearly enough to stop me. I could still get away, I just wouldn't be as comfortable as I'd prefer.

There is a knock at the door, and it opens before I can reach for them. I turn to find the nurse waiting for me, along with her guards.

"This way," she calls out.

I make the mistake of hesitating for a split second, and the guards waste no time coming after me to shove me forward. One pushes me harder than necessary, but I ignore him.

I'll play along for now.

 

 

My intake paperwork states that I am considered incredibly unstable and extremely violent. I can read the notes even though they are sideways on the desk.

Aggressive.

Ruthless.

Manipulative.

Vicious.

Murderer.

Solitary Confinement recommended.

The list goes on and on. There are several notes that state that I should not be allowed near others. That I am deemed high risk, and that my chance of rehabilitation is estimated to be a dismal fifteen percent.

I roll my eyes at their positive outlook. There isn't fifteen percent of me that has any desire to be anything other than myself. I've been trained for years, groomed for the position that I've been given, primed to be not just a mere soldier, but instead the utmost killing machine. It's my job. I hadn't just woken up and decided to start slaughtering left and right. I'd followed orders, the same way the intake nurse followed orders to fill out said paperwork.

The doctor slides in behind the desk and there is a faint feeling of relief that washes over me. I don't recognize him, but it's doubtful that he doesn't know who I am.

"You've declined the first round of medication, Mr. Coulter?" His white lab coat is pristinely pressed over the royal blue dress shirt, and he peers at me over his thick glasses.

Declined was a polite word. I knocked the tray out of the nurse's hands, everything in my being screaming not to take what was on it. There had been a small glass of water and six pills. Three were blue and three were green. I had no intention of swallowing down any of them.

"I'm good, thanks." I raise an eyebrow at him, leaning back in the chair. I cross one leg over the other, trying to ignore the fact that my feet are still bare. I knew what the pills were for, and I wasn't willing to be sedated.

"You are aware that you're here for an undisclosed amount of time. The longer you resist our methods, the more drawn out this will be." The doctor leans forward, his hands folding together on his desk. "You can choose not to take whatever you'd like, but if we don't see some sort of progress with you, we'll be forced to create a blank slate that's suitable for readmission to society."

There is a specific threat to his words, and I know exactly what he is implying. If I don't go along with their plans, he'll erase my mind and I'll be left as nothing more than a shell of who I am now. Nothing more than a bare framework for whoever they want me to be.

I steel my glare at him, refusing to back down.

"Doesn't really matter to me," I tell him, coolly.

The doctor simply stares back, and I wonder if he knows how little I have to live for.


	2. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric is introduced to the asylum and realizes getting out might not be as easy as he thought it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to BK2U for editing this for me. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who took the time to read through this, to follow the story, and to leave a review with your thoughts. I know this is totally out there compared to most Eric / OC stories, but hang in there. I promise it gets interesting. This story has a slow burn feel to it, and it'll pick up in the next few chapters. I liked the idea of him being completely out of his element all while discovering a few things about himself. That's when the real fun begins ;)
> 
> Enjoy!

Not long after the doctor signs off on my orders, something is stabbed into my neck.

I'm not even sure how anyone was able to get ahold of me. It must have been one of the guards, still hovering by the door, or one of the men in white lab coats, making careful observations while the doctor talked. Either way, something was jammed into me and my vision blurred almost instantly. I found myself stumbling out of the chair, hot embarrassment rushing through me as I nearly fell into the same office assistant who had undone the ties on my arms. I tried to fight against it, but all I could feel were rough hands grabbing at me, dragging me until I found myself face down on a hard mattress.

"Six parts to one."

I can hear voices talking, clinically discussing what I can only assume is a dosage, as the world swirls around me. My eyes eventually close on their own, the drugged feeling washing over me as I lie here, now unable to move. I'm sure they're gloating. I may have refused to swallow down their pills, but they'd gotten them into my system anyway. I try desperately to think of what it was and how to fight it off. My mind runs through everything Jeanine has been working on, every slippery serum that I'd personally seen, every sedative she'd ever thought of.

But this is different.

I feel drugged and dreamy, my harshly tight muscles relaxing and the anger dissipating with every passing second. My body struggles to fight a battle it won't win until it ultimately gives in, sleep overtaking me in a triumphant swoop.

It is only when I open my eyes hours later that I realize it was mostly peace serum.

 

 

"These six rooms on the left are for male patients only. The rooms across the hallway are for female patients. There is no fraternizing, no socializing after lights out, and no funny business — at least not while the guards are watching."

The man walking with me is far too friendly. His name is embroidered on his shirt in royal blue script, and I want to tell Kenan to fuck off along with his jovial conversation, but my brain won't let me. Kenan can tell, too. He winks at me, occasionally guiding me away from the wall I'm about to walk into. He would never be any issue to me in Dauntless. He's heavyset, with a cheerful grin on his face and amusement behind his eyes. I can only assume it's because I'm stumbling after him, barefoot and drugged and unable to yell at him.

He keeps enthusiastically gesturing to things I probably need to know about; a nurses' station, the hallway to the dining room, an outdated phone system in case I want to call a doctor and speak to someone immediately due to some sort of emotional breakdown, a stairwell I'm not actually allowed to go into until I earn such a privilege, and a slew of rooms where the guards reside to watch over our every move.

Were my mind not dulled by the terrible serum, I would bark at Kenan to stop his fucking tour and be quiet. But the serum has a terrible way of lingering, especially when one has been overdosed with it. I can still feel its effects: my movements are slow and lazy, my brain feels like it's wrapped in cotton, and I can't muster the strength to do more than walk along with a sloppy look on my face.

Under normal circumstances, I would easily crush him. Pop his head at just the right angle so it severs his spinal cord. I'd be gone before he felt it, halfway out of this shithole and its unflattering lighting.

Instead, I find myself lagging behind him, stepping over disgustingly old carpet with bare feet.

"You won't have a roommate. After three days, they deemed you not enough of a threat to continue solitary confinement, but you still won't have anyone in your room with you. Safety precaution. But heads up, you violate any of the rules and they won't hesitate to sedate you and throw you back in there."

I frown at his words; I can't remember solitary confinement, but I also can't remember anything in between being injected and waking up to a find a staff member over me, sliding something out of my neck again. It wasn't enough to produce the same results as before, but it was purposeful. They wanted me awake enough to follow them, yet drugged enough to be docile to their orders.

"Tomorrow you'll get your schedule. You'll attend group therapy a few days a week, one-on-one therapy two times a week, and a self-care counseling session with one of the activity counselors to help plan your recovery. You're required to participate in almost all of the daily activities unless the doctor excuses you. With any luck, you'll make enough progress to earn some of the more basic privileges rather quickly." He turns to squint at me, his face reflecting nothing but compassion as he points to a door with a number six on it. "This is you. Complete everything you need to do today and they'll bring you some slippers."

For the second time in five minutes, I find myself wanting to tell him to fuck off, and again come to the infuriating realization that I can't voice the words. I can feel the rage building, slowly burning at the thought of earning a pair of shoes to wear around this sorry excuse for a housing unit. But the peace serum forces me to stay quiet, my jaws clenched together.

The annoyance only increases when I step into the room.

The solitude won't be bothersome, but the room is an insult to anyone with eyes. Everything about it is grossly underwhelming and lifeless. Back in Dauntless, my apartment wasn't some overly-designed showroom, but my furniture was far more luxurious than other members'. It was still functional. It was all dark, purchased from markets and trades, always from someone who'd done the grunt work of scavenging it.

This room reminds me of some shit that an Abnegation might find appealing. The walls are a slate grey color and the windows are large, but they're covered with rows of thick bars to prevent anyone from getting out — were they actually dumb enough to think they could jump to their freedom. There is a decent-sized bed set between a pair of ancient, rickety-looking nightstands, and a single dresser for all of the things I don't have to put in it. The floor is carpeted with an old, industrial-type carpet, probably so someone can't bash their own head against the cement floor.

"It ain't pretty, but it'll do. You'll get used to it," Kenan says as he claps me on the shoulder. "I know it's not all dangerous and mysterious like you're probably used to. But trust me, after listening to Dr. Branger for a few hours, you'll be grateful to have somewhere to escape to."

With that, he smacks my shoulder hard enough to knock me forward a step, and he points to the bed.

"Rest up. Dinner's at five. I'd tell you not to be late, but it ain't optional. If you don't show up there, someone will come get you and drag you down there."

He leaves the room before I can tell him that I'm not hungry and I have no plans of attending. I stare at the closed door, and notice there's no lock on it. I'm tempted to open it up and see if it locks from the outside, but I'm too tired. I shuffle towards the bed, and as if my body has a mind of its own, I collapse onto it and close my eyes again.

Xxx

"He's dreamy, but he'll kill you. Take your insides out and feed them to the warlocks that live in the air vents. It's how he gets paid."

The girl is looking right at me, her beady eyes never leaving mine, not even to blink, as she talks on and on. Occasionally, she'll pause to take a bite of the dinner in front of her, but it's not often.

"You've already seen them, haven't you? Running around here when no one is looking. I know they did that to you, didn't they? Gave you that haircut before running back to their lair. Shaved the sides right the fuck off."

It only took a few more minutes for her to tell me her name was Bella, along with a paranoid warning to stay away from the corners of the rooms, especially the ones in the infirmary. She'd certainly solidified the fact that this was an actual mental institution and not just a part of Harrison's stupid plan to keep Jeanine out of the spotlight. Before I can try to figure out if Bella was factionless or not, a girl sits down beside her, sweeping her light brown hair out of her eyes.

"Ignore her," the new girl tells me loudly, staring at the plate before me. Someone had been kind enough to slam it down even though I'd skipped the line, not willing to actually ingest anything they'd serve us. I know they are observing me, and I'm sure they aren't happy, but fuck them. It looks disgusting and inedible, and this girl in front of me reaffirms my decision that I'd have to be insane to want to eat it.

"I'm Aidy," she announces as she eyes my plate again. "Give me your meatloaf if you aren't eating it. They don't take kindly to wasted food around here."

My initial response is to throw it at her face, but instead I sneer at her before slowly sliding it across the table.

"Suit yourself," I shrug, watching her add my dinner to hers with great joy.

So far, this whole thing has been a nightmare. Right before five, another male orderly had thrown my door open to loudly inform me it was time to eat. I wasn't fully awake; I still felt drugged and slow, but it seemed to be wearing off. In that split second, I'd come up with the idea to still act like I was drugged. I knew they wanted me under their control, and they'd be less likely to force a serum into me if I still behaved like I had it in my system.

It worked.

He'd eyed me carefully, reaching for his pocket out of habit. But I moved slowly, keeping my eyes anywhere but on him, and when he was satisfied I wasn't going to attack him, he'd motioned for me to step through the doorway.

I followed after him, witnessing the way he let me walk ahead for just a few steps, then immediately came behind me in case I made the sudden decision to take a detour and make a break for it. I was insulted he thought I was that stupid. Even I knew I was a top priority right now. I'd been admitted only days ago, and I would have to be utterly delusional to think they'd let me out of their sights.

Together he and I walked down the hallway, this man hot on my bare heels, until we arrived at the cafeteria. It was crowded, reminding me of when Dauntless receives its new initiates, filled with the same pointless chatter. But that's where the similarities end. This one has rows of tables, each one covered in a cheap, plastic tablecloth, and bench seats that leave little room for personal space. The walls are covered in an ancient striped wallpaper, with a few spots scratched and peeling as though someone had clawed at them. Unlike in Dauntless, there's plenty of supervision. A few orderlies patrol through the room, their stares bored and indifferent as the patients robotically eat their dinners.

It gave me the hives the minute I realized I would be trapped in here until dinner was over.

"Bella thinks there's a man that lives in the supply closet that feeds the warlocks that live in the air vents," Aidy explains, neatly slicing up the meatloaf. She's enthused at her extra dinner, and she winks at me when the orderly passes our table, not noticing what's going on.

"He'll come after you if you cross him," Bella warns, turning slightly as a man sits down beside her. He shoves her to the side, making more room for himself and settling in as though this is a family dinner and she's a pesky kid. "Bobby has seen him. He was almost murdered by him. Murdered."

"No one can murder me," Bobby retorts, making a face. He's cherubic-looking with a halo of curly brown hair, and he rolls his eyes at her announcement. "Murder-proof-Bobby is what they call me."

"No one calls you that," Aidy points out, taking another bite of her food. "Except for you. And weren't you almost murdered by your own family? Isn't that why you're here? Because you boohooed that they tried to cut your head off?"

"I get no respect around here," Bobby announces. He eyes me for a second, then grins knowingly. "But you, you're a real murderer, aren't you? For real. We know who you are."

I lean back and stare at him, the slightest bit taken back; he's not afraid of me, and he says the word murderer casually, as though being a murderer is a common occurrence around here. No different than if he had said I was schizophrenic or bipolar.

"How would you know who I am?" I snarl, and I lean back towards the table. My gut feeling is to spring out of here, but I've already surveyed the room and there's no way out. There are orderlies waiting at every exit now, including two with their eyes trained on me. I've seen them whisper a few times, cocking their heads towards each other as they stare at me while I glare straight at them.

"We all know," Aidy announces. "They made an announcement that Murder-Spree-McGee was coming. Warned us to stay clear from you until you'd assimilated."

My eyes narrow in disgust.

"I'm not here to assimilate," I hiss at her, but my words are lost in Bella's shrieking.

"Can you see him? He's right there! Hold onto your hair!"

"Shut up, Bella. There's nothing there," Bobby tells her, eyeing her warily. "Actually, that's Dr. Branger, and she looks pissed." I glance where he's looking, noticing a woman quickly hurrying through the room. She looks like she's trying to avoid all eye contact, and I can only imagine the sort of shit she gets caught in the middle of while trying to simply grab her dinner.

"Why are you all just sitting there? Where is my husband?" Bella looks frantic now, looking around wildly. "I think he went in there. We need to go, now."

She points to a door near one of the exits, but I see nothing except a door marked Janitorial Supplies.

"Your husband?" I must be losing my mind to even bother asking her such a question. It's clear she's not in a right mental state, but I stare at her, wondering if maybe she came here with someone.

"She thinks her husband lives in there. No one can break it to her that he's actually a broom in the closet and that's why he only comes out at night. Because the janitor brings him out to mop the floors," Aidy continues on in delight, her eyes sparkling at the girl's insanity. "Are you single? Maybe you and Bella could…"

"Eric, are you not hungry?"

I look up, a snarl still on my lips when I discover Dr. Branger staring down at me. She glances down at the empty space in front of me, and she presses her lips together. "You know, we can't award you any future privileges if you aren't willing to at least try and follow along here. Do you have a special diet we neglected to notice?"

I hold her stare, not backing down in the slightest. She is tall and thin, with wildly curly hair. She purses her lips together in displeasure, and I wonder how long she's worked here. Obviously not long enough, because she still looks hopeful.

"Yeah, my diet consists of eating things that actually look edible. Not this shit."

Dr. Branger frowns again. She looks exceptionally disappointed, and she's in for a cruel surprise if she thinks I'm going to happily go along with her program.

"There's nothing wrong with this food. It's been carefully planned out to meet all nutritional guidelines set by…"

"I'm not hungry," I snarl and she straightens up at my tone. She must not get a lot of resistance from patients, because she looks a little bit taken back. "I don't want your food,"

I make sure my words sound rude, but they aren't entirely untrue. The overdosing of serum has left me feeling slightly unsettled and taken away my appetite. I have no desire to eat mystery meat, and I certainly won't eat it now that it's been ask of me.

Dr. Branger and I stare at each other in some sort of silent standoff, neither of us willing to look away, until Bella slams her plate right into the side of Bobby's face.

"They're here, they're here!"

Her voice is now a scream, one that seems to bounce off every wall and fill every spare inch of space in the room. Bobby shoves her away from him, muttering angrily as he wipes mashed potatoes and meatloaf off his face; when he tosses the napkin back at her, she responds violently.

"He's here! Help me! Get the fuck out of my way!"

She screams again, this time thrashing violently. Dr. Granger's eyes flash towards her, and I'm all but forgotten in the midst of Bella's breakdown.

"Don't worry, Murder Man. This happens occasionally," Aidy tells me, still eating the meatloaf and paying no attention to her screaming companion. "They'll calm her down soon enough."

No one seems to be worried until Bella stabs Bobby in the hand with what appears to be a plastic spork. My lips curl up in disgust at the cutlery, and I'm more glad than ever that I skipped the mockery that is this meal.

But her actions prompt a reaction, though probably not the one she was looking for.

"Code Three!" Dr. Branger calls out, reaching in the pocket of her jacket and fumbling for a moment. She heads around the table, and I watch her pull a syringe out, her eyes fixed on Bella's thrashing form. "I need two men! Now!"

Bella must know what's coming. I cock my head to the side and watch as Bella tries to shrink away from her, but there's really nowhere to go unless she's planning on sitting on the grimy floors. Dr. Granger puts the end between her teeth, and she reaches for Bella's arm. "Anyone?"

"No!" Bella yells out again, and she accidentally smacks Bobby in the face. Everyone continues on as normal, even as Bella keeps shrieking, and Bobby looks over to me and rolls his eyes.

"Women," he mutters. "Am I right?"

The two orderlies must have seen enough. The appear suddenly, standing on each side of Bella with a bored expression on their faces. They each grasp one of her arms, holding her in place as Dr. Branger pulls the cap off the syringe with her teeth. She then stabs it into Bella's arm, the needle sliding into her skin with ease, and a second later, Bella's eyes glaze over.

"He's…he's here…" she slurs, her words and breathing now greatly quieting down. I narrow my eyes as the orderlies pull her to her feet, then sort of slide her back off the bench. She isn't quite dead weight, but she certainly isn't helping them at all.

"Room C?" one asks, and Dr. Branger nods.

"I'll meet you there," she tells them. She throws me one final look, her green eyes lingering on me for a second longer than necessary, before turning to leave.

"You'd be smart to eat something, Eric."

She calls the words out over her shoulder, heading off to wherever Room C is. She throws me one more intense stare, as if she's waiting for me to eat.

"Here you can have some of mine," Bobby offers, sliding his plate over towards me, not noticing the sneer on my face.

I ignore them all, instead watching as Dr. Branger calls someone on a phone, her head down as she walks out of the cafeteria.

 

 

"Spit."

Kennan watches me brush my teeth.

I feel hot and irritable, a testy combination induced by my lack of dinner, the lingering drugs in my system, and his pressing stare. He had told me that I hadn't earned a single privilege other than being allowed to stay out of solitary confinement. This day was a waste of time; I was no closer to getting out of here and no closer to getting them off my back. Even now, he watches me as though I might try to kill him with the plastic toothbrush, and he has every right to be suspicious. I could always shove it down his throat, but something warns me that trying anything right now still isn't smart.

So I play by my own version of their rules; I spit out my toothpaste, catching a glimpse of my cold stare in the mirror.

Were it not for the piercings above my eyebrow and the scowl on my face, I might not recognize myself. My skin is pale and grey, my eyes lifeless and dull, and my hair is sort of limp and greasy, the longer pieces dangerously close to falling into my eyes.

My heart rate increases; I'm not used to seeing myself like this. After my initiation, I'd made myself into the man I'd wanted to be. I was never seen out of control, never stepping foot around the compound without making sure my hair was back and in place, my uniform was freshly pressed, and my shoulders were pulled taut. Initiates and members alike feared me, and my presentation of myself was ninety-nine percent of that reasoning.

A feeling of darky, twisty panic starts to form in my stomach, slowly sliding up until it reaches my ribs.

If they were to see me now, hunched over a bathroom sink while a man made sure I was ready for bed, it would be my undoing.

I wordlessly hand Kenan my toothbrush before walking back to my room, barefoot.


	3. Violent Delights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's read through this story! I know it's definitely weird (and not The Training), so I appreciate everyone's kind words on it.

Of course, I sleep like shit.

The bed is just the beginning of my problems; it isn't my own, and it's far too small for me to find a comfortable position in which to sleep. I toss and turn for a bit, eventually punching the thin pillow as hard as possible out of frustration. I might as well be punching cotton balls, and it only makes me angrier when it sinks in that I really am trapped here.

I try to keep my heart rate even, but the idea is simply maddening. I'm no longer Eric Coulter, leader of Dauntless. I'm Eric Coulter, patient in room six, sent here to be evaluated and broken apart until I am fit to return to society.

Or until Jeanine's scandal blows over.

Unfortunately for me, that will take time. And the idea that this whole thing will blow over without consequence is bullshit. I could be here for much longer than I'd first imagined, and the thought feels like actual lead in my brain.

I stand up, throwing the thin sheet and blanket off me, and I pace the room until I end up at the lone window. The heavy curtains are half open, letting in just a sliver of moonlight. The urge to leap from here is strong; I know I'd survive the jump, even from the third floor, if I were able to actually pry apart the bars. I fidget with the lock on the window, and to my surprise it moves, and the window opens a half an inch.

The smell of rain hits my face, washing over me like a wave, and my hands ball into fists.

While the air outside is warm and sticky and not completely appealing, I feel the itchy urge to be out in it. I'd remedied a lot of sleepless nights in Dauntless by running through the city, occasionally getting stuck in a downpour or a drizzle. It made me feel alive — my heart pumping blood furiously as I ran, the pounding of my feet as they hit the pavement, the way the wind sliced at my skin.

I can almost feel it all now, except I'm stuck, trapped inside these walls.

I force myself back into bed, screwing my eyes shut and hoping I will fall asleep in the next few minutes. The logical part of my brain is working quickly to organize what I've observed. The window is definitely out and storming through the door is only out until I learn the orderlies' schedules. I'll need time to make a plan to break out, whether it be with my fists or with the Dauntless army behind me. My mind screams at me to ask to call Max and make the latter happen, but I'm not stupid enough to think he'll run over here right now.

Eventually, my brain tires of trying to remember every single thing that's happened to me since arriving here, and I fall asleep, dreaming of Harrison gleefully taking my position in Dauntless.

 

The first bed check happens sometime after midnight. I only know it's midnight because the dumbass making his rounds loudly announces "12:20," and I can feel him standing there, staring at the bed. I blink blearily, praying that sleep will overtake me again, even if it means seeing Harrison's face looming in my mind.

"Asleep?" someone calls out, their voice echoing in the hallway. The walls are much thinner than I'd thought, and I grit my teeth when the orderly replies, still leaning against the doorframe.

"The fucker's out cold. Dauntless must have had a rough day today."

He says the last part with a snicker, and while my initial reaction is to leap up and pound the ever-loving shit out of his unobservant ass, I know what will happen if they realize I'm not sleeping. They'll drug me, and I'll be back to square one, which won't help me at all. I need to be conscious and coherent, back to the Eric who would have worked out a plan to get out of here by now.

He finally slams the door shut, and I turn over, staring at the dull wall.

The bed checks were just a small example of the routine I was about to be trapped in. Kenan had told me that sometime after breakfast I'd sit down with a therapist to talk about my first steps to recovery. I wasn't at all interested, and it left me with a sick feeling at the loss of control I was experiencing. It had been a long time since someone had planned my day out for me, and I flashed back to my days as a Dauntless initiate — the grueling monotony of being told what to do, when to do it, and how to do it.

It makes me grind my teeth together, the feeling unpleasant as I close my eyes again, listening to the rain grow louder and louder until it drowns out my thoughts.

 

"You like pancakes? I love pancakes. We used to make them every day. My momma said you don't start your day off with pancakes, nothing's gonna go right. It's a common saying, everyone knows it."

"That's not a common saying, moron. You're the only one who ever says it."

I blink, pressing my fingers to my temples.

Bobby and Aidy are seated across from me, cheerfully eating a heaping pile of pancakes. I stare at them, ignoring the way Bobby is offering me a plate, still talking on and on about his mother and her pancakes and how much of a shame it is that I never got to try them. He speaks highly of her, though if I remember correctly, she once tried to kill him. There is a weak flash of curiosity over which faction he came from, but it's fleeting at best.

I ignore them, instead taking a sip of the wateriest, weakest coffee I've ever had.

"Are you not eating again?" Aidy asks me, tossing her hair back over her shoulder. She glances around, then leans in to whisper at me. "Because if you don't, they'll force feed you. It's not pretty. Eat something. Or at least pretend you are, and give me what you pick."

I glare nastily at her. It's not that I'm not hungry. I'd woken up after the shittiest night of sleep to discover Kenan grinning at me. He'd handed me a set of the same clothes I had on, though these were clean clothes, and they looked like something that a mental patient would wear. He waited patiently while I changed, and then he'd escorted me down to the cafeteria. The same feeling of fury washed over me as I sat down, only increasing when I realized I hadn't eaten anything in days.

But this felt like a trap, and had I been psychoanalyzing myself, I'd say I was starting to get a little paranoid.

"Morning, everyone. Morning, Eric."

Dr. Branger walks by, pausing briefly to stand beside me. She's as non-threatening as they come — her sweater and pencil skirt are more suited for a kindergarten teacher, and her eyes are bright and cheerful. She must not notice the sticky humidity in the air, nor the tepid atmosphere in the room.

"You look a little unhappy this morning," she announces, placing her hands on her hips. "Are you not a pancake person?"

"Fuck your pancakes." I raise my eyebrow at her. It must be mandatory to speak to everyone as though they were a small child. I make sure to ignore her frown of disapproval. She lingers for a second, possibly toying with the idea of chastising me for my words, but something changes her mind and she steps towards the next table, placing a hand on the shoulder of a girl with long red hair.

Once she is distracted, my hunger wins out, and I reluctantly reach for the lone piece of toast on the plate. I eye it suspiciously, wishing I knew if there was anything in it, but I can't tell. It just looks like a normal piece of bread, probably made by some dumbfuck in Amity.

"There's nothing in it. It's safe to eat."

The voice comes from next to me, from the smallest and most normal-looking person I've seen here so far. The girl comes up to my hunched over shoulders; her hair has been lopped off at a sharp angle slanting forward, and it hangs in her face. She's suddenly seated beside me, her legs somehow crossed in front of her, and she reaches forward to pick up a single pancake. I watch her set it on a paper plate; then, as neatly as one possibly can with plastic cutlery, she slices it into even sections. She glances at me once more, and seems to shrink back into herself at the look of disgust on my face.

"I promise."

I have no reason to believe her. I want to set the toast down, but my stomach lurches in protest of having nothing in it other than drugs. I nod curtly, refusing to thank her, and I take a bite.

I immediately regret it.

It's the weirdest bread I've ever eaten. I chew it way too many times, wondering who the fuck managed to make a piece of bread taste like wet sand, before Aidy rolls her eyes.

"There's nothing in it because it's gluten-free, and rumor has it that the serums don't actually stay in the food if there's no gluten. Usually, only Violet or Dr. Granger will eat that bread." She stabs her pancake with more force than necessary and scowls. "Bobby, move the fuck over. You're breathing too loudly."

Bobby glares for a moment, but his face lights up when we are joined by a man closer to my age. He is thin, his dark brown hair buzzed to a short length except for a mess on top. He nods at me in silent greeting, bobbing his head enthusiastically, and I notice his pupils are blown so wide he has to be pleasantly buzzed on something.

He makes himself at home, settling into the nonexistent space between Aidy and Bobby. He eyes me once more, then raises both of his eyebrows in mock delight.

"Who's the new guy?" he asks lazily, reaching for an entire pancake. I watch him with great disgust as he pours syrup all over it, then rolls it up and begins to eat it without bothering to cut it. "No, wait, let me guess. Dauntless? Am I right? I am right. I knew it." He pauses to wink at me before cocking his head to the side. "You wanna know how I knew? It's all that shit on your throat. All those weird lil blocks there. What'd you do to get locked up here? Piss off one of their big, bad, more tattooed leaders? Knock over one of their tattoo machines and spill all their ink?"

His words touch on the very last nerve that I have. I slam my hand down on the table, causing everyone in the room to jump. The girl beside me turns to stare at me, her fork halfway to her mouth and her brown eyes widening.

"Fuck off," I hiss, and the guy laughs in my face.

"You want me to fuck off? You fuck off. You're the one who's still in your intake clothing. Chill, bro."

His words are not meant to be taunting; I can tell by his slow hand gestures and his loopy smile that he's been partaking in something that isn't routinely offered here and he's simply too stoned to realize I'm not finding any humor in his words. But that means nothing to me. I stand up quickly, reaching across the table, and my hand is around his throat before he can blink.

"Do you know who I am?" I ask, my voice sounding lethal. I make sure my words are slow and purposeful, watching as he struggles a bit. His fingers fumble against my fist, but he has no chance of breaking free.

"Um…um…yes…yes, this is going badly," Bobby announces, and he glances around furiously. "Eric, put him down before someone notices. It's not really nice to-"

"I'm not nice," I remind them, tightening my grip. Right now I'm not really inflicting any actual harm to him; my grip is merely uncomfortable as it slowly cuts off his air supply, but I'll know just the moment when it becomes too much. "And I'm not going to chill because I'm not supposed to actually be here."

"None of us are," Bella announces solemnly.

I hadn't even noticed her at the table, but she's there now, blinking furiously as though there's something in her eye. "They're watching you, you know. The warlocks and the nurses."

Only part of her statement makes any actual sense, but she's right on one count. My new friend's face is now beet red, and before I can release him, I'm grabbed by two men in white who had clearly been watching me. They reach for my arms, pulling me back, but not realizing I'm standing in front of the bench seat. They struggle humorously for a moment as my legs hit the bench and my friend's face jerks forward as I am jerked backward.

"Oh, shoot, you're gonna be on red. Red, red, red," Bella repeats. She's nearly knocked over by another of the guards as he tries to help release my hands from the drugged-out idiot's throat, and she shoots him a dirty look. "Rude."

"Eric, let him go. Pete didn't mean anything by it. He's sorry, aren't you, Pete? Oh shit, oh no, my breakfast." Bobby sounds frantic, and I notice his pancakes have fallen off his plate. He grips his hair in frustration, and glances down at them. "That's okay. That's okay. I can fix this. I can fix this. PETE, ARE YOU SORRY YET?"

Pete tries to nod, and I let my grip lessen slightly. I have the uncontrollable urge to punch him, but it dies down when I hear Dr. Branger behind me, her voice tight and sharp, far less nice than earlier.

"Get him out of here."

 

"Eric, do you know why you're here? Why you're really here?"

Dr. Branger has resumed her doctor's voice and now sounds just like anyone from Erudite. Polite, yet condescending. Clinical and detached. After my altercation with Pete, she is now all business; she's had me dragged into an office that's well decorated in Erudite-approved awards and certificates. To anyone else, these would seem impressive. To me, they are nothing but garbage. They mean she's slaved her years away trying to prove to others just how valuable she is, how smart and necessary to her faction she is.

Only to end up here.

I throw her a venomous look, and I get a spark of satisfaction when she leans back away from me.

"You and I both know that I'm only here to cover for Jeanine," I remind her, leaning back in my own chair. "I won't be here long. So, sign off on whatever the fuck you need to and leave me the hell alone. I'm not here to have you fix me."

Dr. Branger blinks a few times and pulls out a pen. I watch as she then scrawls on the paper in front of her, and it makes me itchy that I can't see what she's writing.

"You're here on rather direct orders, courtesy of Jeanine. Did you know that? She's signed off on your treatment, allowing us to use the most aggressive form of treatment, if needed," Dr. Branger answers tightly, her eyes skating over me. "We've been told to rehabilitate you by whatever means necessary. Jeanine wants her best soldier back, at any cost."

I take in her words and my jaw clenches down.

"Any means, Eric. She's not above having you come back as someone else. Your fellow leaders all signed off as well, stating you're a possible threat to the faction and that they see this interference as necessary," she finishes, scribbling something else on the papers in front of her. I sit there silently, a slow dull rage starting somewhere in my stomach and rising up until I'm not sure if I'll scream or vomit.

"I worked for her—" I start to snarl, but Dr. Branger shakes her head.

"I'm aware of what you did for her. I know the sort of things she's asked you to do. I can help you. I can fix you," she says softly, and the room seems to tilt sideways. I wonder if she really knows everything. Did Jeanine tell her that she had me drag Divergents to her with their faces bloodied, their breathing labored? That I didn't always adhere to the "mostly alive" request from her, but that sometimes I went the extra step to rid Chicago of the vermin that crawled through the streets. Does she know that I did it without question because it was my job?

It was becoming crystal clear that none of that mattered, because I was here, sitting in front of a doctor who had a very different idea about my fate.

"Eric?" Dr. Branger is looking at me, her glasses nearly sliding off her nose. "Eric, are you alright?"

I look around the room, anywhere but at her, suddenly feeling clammy. I wipe my palms on my knees, the cheap fabric of the pants rough beneath them. The reality of the situation is crashing down around me, one second after the other.

I mentally run through my choices, trying to focus. I could give in; letting them drug me into oblivion until they think I'm acceptable to leave. Return to Dauntless and get myself off the shit they'd undoubtedly load me up on. I could try to bolt. I'd probably make it as far as the reception office if I was lucky, but I wasn't sure about the outside grounds. I could be miles from a road or just a few minutes. Or — and this was my very last and least desirable option — I could pretend to go along with their plans, offering up minimal resistance.

I look back at Dr. Branger, ignoring the way her pen is paused on her paper, and I unclench my jaw when I realize I'm royally fucked.

"Fine," I snap, and I shrug, ignoring the crawling sensation working its way up my spine. I make myself smile at her, despite the feeling of complete and utter claustrophobia dawning over me. "Do your worst."

 

"What did they do to you? Did they inject you with anything? Are you feeling dizzy? Lightheaded? Nauseous?"

Bobby questions me relentlessly, walking quickly to keep up with me. I'd been afforded the laughable luxury of walking myself to the assigned therapy session, under the stern warning that walking anywhere but back to the hallway and down a few doors would result in some serious consequences. I wasn't dumb enough to take such a risk just yet. Even worse, my alone time was squashed by the appearance of Bobby, who'd clearly taken our forced breakfast together as a sign that we were now the best of friends.

"What did they do? She did nothing," I shrug, reading the signs outside the doors until I find the one labeled 'Therapy Room A.' I snicker at the memory of Dr. Branger as she dismissed me with a hopeful look on her face, and I reach for the door. "She told me to come here and sit through this session. How terrifying. I guess she really showed me."

My faux contempt echoes in the empty hallway. I'd decided I need to give them the illusion of control so they'd ease up on their intense scrutiny of me. Their interest wouldn't last forever if they thought I was slowly accepting their stupid program.

"You coming?" I turn to look at Bobby and I notice his face has changed from a look of concern to something of horror.

"You, uh, you heard anything about Dr. Erin's sessions yet?" he asks, twisting his fingers together.

"No, but how bad can they be?" I shoot him an annoyed look and he swallows heavily.

"Okay, well, then, uh, good luck today. Maybe she won't call on you," he offers up brightly, stepping in ahead of me. He doesn't look back, and I stand there for a second, counting to ten before I force myself through the door.

 

Twenty-two minutes later, I'd rather remove my own organs with a plastic spork than be sitting where I am.

The room is full of people, most of whom I haven't met. They alternate between looking weepy or totally insane. A few of them talk out of turn, loudly shouting out answers to questions no one is asking. I come to the conclusion that if they hadn't been placed in here, they would have been factionless, because there is no way any of them would ever be considered of any value to their faction.

Bobby sits on one side of me, shooting nervous looks at Pete sitting beside him. Pete looks completely fine now, but every once in a while, I catch him glancing at me out of the corner of his eye, trying hard not to look directly at me. Next to him is Aidy, half asleep with her feet propped up on the lap of the man beside her, who doesn't appear to notice.

"Violet, can you tell me how you felt when no one acknowledged that you were in the room? Is this a common occurrence?"

Dr. Erin is to the point, not mincing words at all with the poor soul seated next to me. The girl from breakfast had come in right after me, silently taking the remaining empty seat and curling herself up into some sort of acrobatic position. She'd been the doctor's sole focus so far; Dr. Erin seemed hell-bent on making sure Violet spoke up about her true feelings, continually asking if we understood why our actions made Violet feel the way she did.

It was enough to make me gag.

Violet clearly didn't want to talk. She'd spent most of the session with her head bent down, and every time Dr. Erin asked her questions, she shrank down a little bit further.

"Violet? Are you listening?" The doctor tries again, and this time, another few minutes pass while the room is painfully quiet. She fidgets beside me, and I realize that Violet is staring at my bare feet. I glare at her to make her look away, but I'm not sure she notices.

"It's fine." She finally raises her head up, meeting Dr. Erin's intense stare for maybe two seconds. She then goes back to her position and leans further against the armrest so she's almost touching me. I move away a fraction of an inch, grimacing as a single strand of her hair touches the bare skin of my arm.

"Fine?" Dr. Erin repeats, jotting down something in a notebook on her lap.

Her note-taking forces a wave of unease to wash over me. It was the same sort of tactic we might have used while interrogating someone. Making them feel as though we had the upper hand by jotting down things that we might be able to hold against them later. I watch the doctor carefully until her heated gaze lands on me.

"Alright, then; how about you, Eric? How do you feel joining our group today? This is your first group session since arriving here." She looks at me over her glasses. She's patient and calm, not at all bothered by the lack of participation. I hold her stare until she smiles softly. "Are you enjoying it so far?"

I raise an eyebrow at her.

"No."

"No?" Dr. Erin repeats. Her tone tells me she isn't overly impressed with my answer, but I don't care.

"Who the fuck would enjoy being here? This is a waste of time. Do you even know what's going on outside these walls? No. You're just stuck in here, talking about how you feel today."

The moment the words leave my mouth, I realize this might not be the best way to pretend that I'm not resisting their methods. But I can't help it. This therapy session is pointless, and I seem to be the only one aware of that fact.

"Eric…" Dr. Erin says my name and then trails off.

This must be unusual because the room grows even quieter. Bobby stifles a cough, and beside me, Violet tilts her head up a bit to look at me. I detect a hint of a smile flash across her lips, but it's fleeting.

"Well, I, for one, like being here," Bella pipes up from across the room, sounding far too snotty for someone in an insane asylum. I notice she's seated right beside Dr. Erin with her arms crossed over her chest. "I think this group is very helpful. I think maybe you'd be less murderous if you tried it. Less likely to try to kill someone over pancakes."

Her bravery is short-lived as soon as I make eye contact with her. She visibly withers as I hold her stare, then she eventually blinks rapidly and looks at Dr. Erin as though she can save her.

"Thank you, Bella," Dr. Erin begins, but she's interrupted by a knock on the door. "Yes?"

She sets the notepad down on her lap and the door opens to reveal a nurse, dressed entirely in the same white uniform as all the others. She smiles robotically at all of us. I notice she's holding a clipboard in her hand and my stomach lurches.

"Sorry to interrupt you, but I'm here to collect a few patients. The altercation in the cafeteria means they missed their morning doses, and we can't let them fall behind schedule."

Her voice is even and slick but my insides betray my cool exterior by sliding up into my throat. This was what I'd been dreading. I might be able to trick them into thinking I wasn't going to murder anyone, but I couldn't escape the fact that they had a very liberal utilization of medication. I knew they'd be eager to keep it in my system one way or another. They'd already proven that they could.

I almost regret telling Dr. Branger to do her worst.

The nurse's bland look falls to me and she motions for me to follow her. "I'll need Pete and Eric to come with me."

Fuck, no.

I make the snap decision that I'm not leaving. I'll sit through Dr. Erin yapping on for the rest of the day if it means not being drugged to the gills.

"I'm good, thanks." I lean back in my chair, returning my stare to Dr. Erin. She's observing me, patiently waiting for what comes next.

"I'm also good," Pete mirrors my position, crossing his ankle over his leg. "In fact," he pauses, smirking, "I'd say I'm already medicated enough."

The nurse isn't fazed. She smiles again, vacant as ever, and taps her pen on the clipboard. "Now, fellas. You don't want to overlap your medication times. It'll make you sick."

Neither of us move.

"Neither of you feel the need to take your medication today?" Dr. Erin asks, and I feel something move against my arm. I jerk away, glaring down at the girl beside me.

"Youcantakeitit'saplacebo." She murmurs the words so quietly I can't hear them, and I find myself growing more irritable by the minute.

"What?" I hiss at Violet, and she moves away from me, trying to rearrange herself.

"Violet, what did you say to Eric?" Dr. Erin is very interested in what's going on, but her words do nothing and Violet shakes her head.

"Nothing. I was just stretching," Violet answers, and this time, she sits up straighter. She pushes her hair out of her eyes, settling back until her feet are flat on the edge of her chair. "Can we break for a minute? I'd like to get some water. I'm feeling a little overwhelmed."

It's the most I've heard her speak, and I'm strangely grateful for her suggestion because Dr. Erin nods her head. "You know what, we've earned a break. We'll take five minutes. Eric and Pete, please follow the nurse out. Anyone who would like a drink, please take a minute to visit the water fountain, then return right back to your seats."

The room erupts in quiet chatter. People eagerly rise up, heading towards the heavy door we'd come in through. Violet stands up beside me, lingering even though she was the one who said she needed water. I follow suit with the rest of the room, ignoring Pete mumbling 'fuck this' and trying not to let anyone get too close to me. When I reach the doors, Violet slips past me, her arm brushing against mine as we wait to exit the room. I give her the benefit of the doubt and try not to shove her away from me.

"It's a placebo," she whispers again, this time so I can hear her. "The pills. The first set are always a placebo. It's just to see if you'll take them without a struggle. The second dose is a sedative if you don't take the first one easily. They'll repeat it until you take them without thinking about it."

I cock my head at her, unsure of what to think. A million thoughts run through my head. I can't even begin to know if I should trust her, but for some reason, I nod my head.

"Okay," I answer as I slip through the door towards the waiting nurse.


	4. Meet Melissa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric listens to a newfound friend with surprising results, and he learns that the patients have a fitness routine that rubs him the wrong way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major thanks to everyone who has been following this story so far. I appreciate allll of you! 
> 
> Super mega thanks to BK2U for editing this! You're editing skills are the stuff of goals lol.

I swallow down the round of pills without much of a fight.

After leaving Dr. Erin's room of torture, I'd reluctantly taken the handful of medication the nurse had handed to both Pete and me. He followed my lead, throwing them back and washing them down with something that tasted like apple juice. Each of us were then escorted to an exam room for monitoring. It was there that I spent an uncomfortable twenty minutes waiting for the pills to kick in, then another twenty minutes sweating when I realized Violet had been right.

They'd done nothing.

I don't feel the slightest bit groggy or drugged. I actually feel fine, maybe even a little more energized, though it could all be in my head. More than likely, it's my nervous system preparing to fight off the sluggish feelings I was ready for. Whatever it is, it feels far better to sit and ignore the nurse while she takes my blood pressure and occasionally smiles in my general direction than to sit here and talk about my feelings. I even let her murmured comment of good boy slide.

"Are you feeling alright?" she asks, and I nod, keeping my stare on the eye chart, mentally reading the letters over and over:

F

U

C

K

Y

O

U

Until she dismisses me without another word.

 

At dinner, I was given another cup of the multicolored pills, and while I eyed them warily, I swallowed them down once Violet nodded at me.

"Placebo."

She whispered it just as she had during Dr. Erin's session. The nurse behind her smiled blandly at our table, her interest clearly not on us. We were all sitting in the same seats as this morning, and it felt oddly disorienting to think I'd sat here, mere hours ago, with my fist around Pete's throat. I swallow heavily, not entirely enjoying the feeling of the tiny bits of plastic sliding down my esophagus. I notice one of the aides staring at me, probably making sure I really did take the pills, and I stare at her until she leaves.

"They're happy you took them," Violet whispers again, and I wonder if she can talk at any other decibel.

"Good for them. Now, tell me, why so many placebos?" I ask her, my voice cold and indifferent.

Violet peers up from beneath her hair, brushing it to the side and studying me for a second. I stare back at her, and I can feel my jaw clenching shut in irritation when it takes her forever to answer.

"I told you," she finally whispers, her gaze back to the aides lingering at the table. I notice them watching Bella, nodding as they talk amongst themselves. "It's a test. They want to see if you're willing to follow their system. Because if you aren't, and you resist taking the medication, they'll start you on a different plan of action."

She sounds like someone who could conceivably work here, if any of them actually spoke so quietly. I wonder if she's parroting what she's been told, or if it's even true. I have every inclination not to trust her; she could be setting me up for failure. They could be planning on testing me and seeing if I've been taking anything, or they could be slowly increasing my dosage.

"I know you don't trust me, but I'm not lying to you. I don't have any reason to."

I turn back to Violet, her brown eyes wide and honest, and I stab my hamburger with a vengeance.

"I don't."

I don't speak to her again. I don't speak to anyone else at the table, not even when Bella completely and utterly loses her shit at one of the cafeteria workers. She screams bloody murder, flinging her plate and her fork at Bobby, yelling something about can't we hear him barking at her, over and over again. She doesn't calm down until she's roughly pulled up from the table, one of the aides handing her something to take. I keep my stare trained on her, noticing that she takes three red tablets without question. Her shoulders slump in relief, and she leaves shortly after, her head down and her eyes glazing over.

"Well, that was fun. I don't know about you guys, but I am wiped out." Bobby breaks the silence at our table, grinning at me. "Eric, you excited to hear what you landed on today?"

"What I landed on?" My eyebrow must be into my hairline. I stab my burger again, trying hard to pretend the meat is edible. Even Dauntless couldn't manage to fuck up hamburgers, yet this place somehow did.

"Yeah, on the chart. At the end of the day you get a behavioral color. It's how you earn privileges. I sure do hope I'm on green. That way I can get an extra hour of reading time. Oooh, or maybe a haircut! It's getting kind of long."

I swallow my food down, the tasteless lump stuck somewhere in my ribs, and I try hard, very hard, not to kill someone.

 

"Yellow."

Kenan grins at me, handing me a basket with a towel on top of it.

"Congratulations, man. You've now earned the right to shower and wash that shit show greasy hair of yours, some new clothes, and last but not least, slippers."

I could crack his skull in two. I stare at him and the wide, happy, genuine grin on his face, and I realize he's clearly psyched for me.

"You uh, you wanna shower now? They're pretty empty at this hour. You'll have a bit more privacy if that's what you're into."

Every inch of my skin hurts the longer he talks. I realize I'm holding my breath, and I exhale sharply.

"Those are my privileges?" I sound nasty, as nasty as I would right before I'd normally shoot someone in the head, but he has to be fucking kidding. Not only had I been ranked on some sort of childish color chart, the name Eric Coulter had been stuck to a yellow square, one above red.

"They are, my man."

"They're shit. I want a phone call. I want to call…"

"No can do," Kenan interrupts and he shakes the basket at me. "You'll get a phone call tomorrow if you complete your one-on-one session, though I doubt you've got a long list of people waiting for you to call them. Your intake paperwork looked pretty bleak."

He's not being rude. I can tell by the look on his face, the slight change of tone to his voice, that this man, this fucking security guard at an insane asylum, has the audacity to pity me over my emergency contact list.

"Who I have to call is none of your fucking business," I snap, but he cuts me off with a wave of his hand.

"I know yellow ain't all that great, man. Trust me, I get it. But you gotta start somewhere. I'd suggest you start by taking a shower so you don't get labeled as the smelly serial killer. Regular serial killer is cool. But smelly? That shit don't fly around here."

I wordlessly take the basket from him and I bite down on the side of my cheek so hard that I taste blood.

"Fuck off."

 

There's nothing that makes you feel alive like having another man stand there while you take a shower. Or sit there. Because the first thing Kenan does after taking me to a room with a row of four separate showers is make himself comfortable on the bench against the wall.

"Get out," I narrow my eyes at him as he settles back against the wall, opening up a magazine and propping his feet up.

"I ain't here to check out your ass, Dauntless. No one showers alone. It's in the handbook, section six, paragraph three. Don't need you trying to hang yourself with a shower curtain before bed. You can do that shit on someone else's watch."

I could scream.

"You can have up to fifteen minutes. I'm feeling generous today. Especially after your big promotion and all."

I choose to ignore him. Instead, I turn on the shower and yank my shirt off over my head. The terrible pants and my boxers are next, and I step into surprisingly hot water and pull the shower curtain closed.

"You've probably got a much nicer shower back at home. I heard Dauntless leaders have pretty cushy lives."

I reach for the shampoo bottle, not bothering to tell him he couldn't be more wrong. I don't lead any kind of cushy life in Dauntless, not unless one considers cushy to be working relentlessly and being hounded to produce more. More soldiers, always from weak initiates that are mostly just overly-brave teenagers. More Divergents, from lists that have questionable descriptions of what exactly a Divergent is. More specimens for Jeanine to experiment on. More mind-numbing paperwork to fill out, making it look like I spend most of my time approving and expanding upon factional boundaries and patrol routes.

No, there's nothing cushy about it.

Even as a leader, my downtime is minimal at best — mere minutes before I fall asleep at night, a scant hour here or there, usually aided by the strongest whiskey I can find. I often sleep dreamlessly, through short hours, rising before the faction wakes. It's a pace that I won't be able to keep up forever, but it has been worth it to me.

Or at least it was, at one point.

My eyes sting at the thought. Squeezing them shut tightly, I wipe away the overly-scented shampoo from my face.

"It's not as nice as you think."

I don't know why I answer him. The room has been silent aside from the sounds of me washing my hair and the running water. Kenan makes a disinterested sound of approval before I hear him stand up and open the door. He talks quietly with someone, their voices echoing, but I can't quite make out what they're saying.

The locker room is now humid, but it feels good against my skin. I use the bar of soap provided, viciously scrubbing at my skin until it's red and raw. When I'm satisfied, I rinse off, wiping my face with my hands.

"You okay in there, Dauntless? You still got five minutes, but I'm just making sure you aren't trying to figure out if you can fit down the drain."

His words make me snort.

"You think I'm joking. But there have been a few looney tunes who thought they could escape through the plumbing."

I rinse my hair and shut off the water. It gurgles down the drain, and I watch it swirl around for a solid minute before reaching for the towel Kenan had gifted to me. I step out, a slight bit surprised to find him still in the room.

"Well, look at you. All nice and clean and a lil less murderous than before." Kenan grins from his perch on the bench, and he motions to the sinks. "Maybe that's all you needed. A good scrubbing to calm down your rage." He pauses, but starts again before I have time to snap at him. "I grabbed your toothbrush. You can thank me anytime."

I don't say another word to him.

 

That night, I dream of my mother.

She stands before me, her arms open wide, her gaze soft and kind and everything that any child would want to see. I ignore her plea to come near her, stubborn even in my unconsciousness, and I walk past, disregarding the flinch in her posture.

"You can't go yet, Eric. Will you stay a little longer?"

Even in my dream, her words are like a snake, wrapping themselves around my brain until I can't think. I stare at her, her blonde hair neatly pulled back and her royal blue dress so extravagant — yet so oddly simple — that it almost seems too formal even for Erudite, and I shrug at her.

"I'll come back to visit."

But I won't.

Even in my dream, I can connect what she's talking about.

The day when I chose to leave my life in Erudite behind. A life of practical and applied theories. One that, should I have chosen to stay there, would have been filled with logic, rules, and strictly enforced codes that I would thrive under, allowing me to follow in their footsteps.

But I didn't want that.

I never wanted safety and pragmatism. I wanted something else, something that would make me feel different. Something that would make me feel purposeful. Needed. Alive.

After I left Erudite, I never went back.

But there was no need to. One blisteringly hot afternoon, after I'd returned home from school, my father coolly informed me that there had been an event and that my mother wouldn't be coming home. I would always remember his words, his clinically detached tone as he explained I wouldn't see her around anymore.

I never asked any further questions, but I did dream of her.

Just like now.

She reaches for me, her hands soft and warm, pulling me towards her. I finally give in, letting myself lean into her, no longer a child but a grown man, and she dissolves into a million little pieces, each one blinking away as they grow smaller and smaller.

 

I awake drenched in sweat.

My head is pounding and my hands are clammy. I force myself to sit up, dizziness sweeping over me with the fading image of my mother. The thought of her makes me feel ill and hot, suddenly claustrophobic in the tiny room. I don't hesitate as I shove the sheets off of me and swing my legs over the bed; my bare feet hit the floor. I make the split-second decision to take a risk by heading towards the door and opening it without listening for the night nurses doing their routine checks. They'd surely force me back into the room, or drug me back to sleep if I protested.

I'm relieved when I find no one in the hallway.

I walk past all the closed doors quickly, trying hard to slow my breathing down to something more normal. So far, the floor is mostly silent; there is only the ticking of a clock somewhere and the hum of cheap, industrial fluorescent lighting. When I reach the end of the hallway, I come upon a doorway marked 'stairwell', and it is by some miraculous force that it is unlocked when I pull on it. I don't really know where I'm going, but I step through onto a landing, glancing around quickly.

My choices are either up or down.

I head down the stairs two at a time, rounding a sharp corner and coming to a halt when I see a door marked 'exit'. My heart pounds in my chest, refusing to slow down at the tantalizing good fortune I have stumbled upon.

My hand is sweaty as I turn the knob and push slowly, preparing myself to run as fast I can once my feet hit the outside grounds.

Too bad my plan is a spectacular failure.

I am hit by the smell of rain and pine. I'm also hit by the sight of Violet sitting atop an awkward extra step that leads down to an old fire escape. My mind whirls as I try to make sense of what's going on, and I'm overcome with a rush of white hot disappointment when I realize this fire escape leads nowhere. Someone has detached the set of stairs that would normally lead to the level below, and instead has neatly sealed it up enough that you can't fall through it. The edges of the metal are welded, leaving me without the hope of prying them apart.

It doesn't matter.

I had no idea until now, but we are a good five stories up, and there's a higher likelihood of falling to my death than there is of actually landing safely on the ground below.

"Are you okay? You look a little pale."

Violet looks up at me, unwrapping her arms from around her knees. She's dressed atypically from the pajamas I imagine they hand out; hers seem to consist of an oversized men's shirt that isn't from here and a pair of short, flimsy-looking shorts. She is barefoot, and she doesn't seem to be bothered by the turn in the air. There is a sharp breeze that scrapes against my cheek, and a coolness that wasn't there a few days ago.

"Does Kenan know you're out here?"

Her words drift up in the night, soft as ever and quiet enough that they could be swept up with the wind. I shake my head at her, reluctantly sitting down beside her when I realize I have nothing better to do. She rewraps her arms around her knees and turns her stare back to the vast darkness in front of us.

"Why are you out here?" I ignore her question, my voice sounding rougher and ruder than normal.

But she isn't bothered by it. She smiles up at me warily, and for once, I can see her entire face.

"I'm on pink. I can go pretty much wherever I please so long as it's on the grounds. Sometimes, if I can't sleep very well, Kenan and I will come sit out here and talk until I'm tired. Not many of the other residents know this is here."

I grunt in response.

"You thought you were free, didn't you?" Violet asks curiously, cocking her head to the side. "I bet when you saw the sign you thought you were almost out of here. You probably wondered how could it be so easy?" She doesn't sound condescending at all. Her voice is perfectly even and soft, and she pulls her knees up higher. "The first time I saw it, I did."

"When did they take it down?" I settle down against the step, letting my feet touch the cold metal.

Beside me, Violet shifts, her hair falling back in her face, and she looks down at the patched-up area. A few raindrops have fallen onto it, and the wet metal gleams back at us under the cold moonlight.

"A long time ago. It used to lead all the way to the bottom, you know. When they took off the ladder it mostly fixed the problem, but some people still tried to use it as a way out. That's why Kenan doesn't let anyone out here but me," she answers, and her voice sounds far away.

I want to ask her if she's ever tried to run away, but I don't. Maybe she has. Maybe that's why she stays so quiet, always silently observing the world around her, because she knows she's ultimately stuck in this hellhole.

The two of us lapse into further silence, sitting side by side on the creaky metal fire escape as the rain slowly increases, sprinkling down upon us. It isn't until Kenan appears, with a grumpy look on his face and crankily informing us that we both need to get back in bed, that I forget about my dream.

 

"Oh, heck yes, are you ready for this? Oh, you're ready for this. You were made for this."

Bobby's excitement has reached a level I haven't seen before. He practically bounces on his heels as we wait in a long line of assorted patients who aren't exactly mentally stable. Everyone is dressed in thrilling shades of white and beige, and they look like a sea of strange animals being herded towards a slaughterhouse.

"Where are we going?" I grit my teeth together, hating that I'm forced to ask him a question. I dislike not having the upper hand here, and so far, my knowledge of this place is frustratingly limited. I'd only learned a tiny section of the layout: my room and the bathrooms, the locker room with showers, a therapy room, and a cafeteria. It's all laid out on one floor, and after last night, it's maddening to know that there are levels and wings that would leave me lost in a maze were I to wind up in one.

It's a far cry from Dauntless, where I know every inch like the back of my hand.

"We're going to the gym."

Bobby says the words loudly, eliciting a few whoops of celebration.

Not from me.

"Why?" I frown, crossing my arms over my chest. We haven't had any coffee yet; hell, we haven't done anything except sit through Dr. Erin's lecture on the power of positive thinking. I'd been positive it was a waste of time, but I did catch up on some sleep by nodding off behind Aidy until Bobby shook me and told me we were leaving.

"It's Wellness Wednesday. It's part of our program. But don't worry. You were made for this class."

Bobby says the words as though I should have already known what's going on. Maybe even signed up in advance. He shuffles in place beside me, then claps me awkwardly on the arm and beams up at me.

I jerk away at his touch, nearly smacking Violet in the head as she sneaks past us, ducking beneath my swing. She turns back to look at me, then quickly turns back around and slips in front of a man who is wearing two different shoes.

Bobby laughs, his voice sounding a tad bit hysterical.

"Just whatever you do, don't piss off Coach."

 

"Move your fucking ass, Eric. Do you think this is some sort of game?"

I shoot the most venomous look I can at the beast in front of me.

So far, this little outing hasn't been going much in my favor. I may be physically fit — hell, I'm probably in better shape than most of the guards here — but I am unprepared to be playing fucking badminton on an indoor court.

I cringed when I saw the baskets filled with the vintage equipment; it's all dark and rotted, and it looked as though it had been here since this place opened. I cringed again when I'd realized we weren't going outside. I'd never been one to crave the sunshine or have any sort of appreciation for being in nature, but upon realizing we were stuck inside, my chest tightened a bit.

I had thought it was disappointment, and I fought it down fiercely. Until I was assigned to play on a team of complete and utter morons.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought this was a game. Did you not assign teams for the very game you said we were playing?" I snarl, already over this activity. It was clear that each week we were to perform some sort of physical activity, and I had a feeling they all were along these lines.

Our leader is a woman who barked that her name is Coach Melissa, and she gave us mere seconds to line up. She then handed out rackets and instructed us exactly where to stand on the court.

But right now, she bares her teeth at me as I take a step towards her, towering over her short stature.

"Are you getting smart with me?" she taunts, taking a step closer to me. She's unafraid, even though it would be easy for me to take her down in an instant.

"Here, I'll put it in words you can understand. Fuck you," I hiss at her, trying very hard to resist smashing her skull in with the badminton racket. It was bad enough that I was standing here barefoot, and it was soul-crushingly mortifying to think that'd I ever participate in such an activity. But the woman before me controlled my fate after this class, and she knew it.

"Oh, you want me to fuck you, Eric? No thanks. We have a strict no fraternizing rule. Not that I'd touch you with a hundred foot pole." The coach, who I refuse to actually call Coach Melissa, comes up to somewhere on the middle of my chest. She is rude and condescending, brutally unimpressed with the group of patients before her. She has the same scowl on her face that I might have had as I stood before a group of initiates, and while it doesn't strike fear in my heart, it does make me highly annoyed.

"You sound desperate," I sneer at her, waiting for her to back down a bit. I'm not dumb enough to think I can overpower her completely, but to my surprise, she seems to thrive off of resistance.

"Oh, I am desperate. Desperate for you to shut up and take orders for once in your life. Listen, I know what you're thinking. Everyone new here thinks the exact same thing. That you're too good for here. Too good to be standing around in the unofficial crazy person uniform, playing a sport that died hundreds of years ago because it was fucking stupid. Because you're Eric, and we're supposed to bow down to the almighty Dauntless leader and excuse him from his prescribed fitness class because he's too good for endorphins. But you know what? You aren't too good, not even a tiny bit. You're here, you're now one of us, and you're gonna play badminton like your life depends on it. Because it does."

With that, she shoves a shuttlecock in my face and smiles maliciously.

"You're up. Start serving."

Behind her, Pete snickers and nudges Violet. I feel a rush of ungodly burning hatred towards him, even more so when he bends down and whispers into her ear. She doesn't react, except for giving him a side eye before stepping away from him and resuming her spot.

Melissa glowers at me, her eyes flashing impatience at the fact that I'm still right in front of her.

"Any day now, Prince Eric. We're all waiting for you to start the game."

At her goading, I take the piece of cheap plastic from her, my fingers ready to rip it apart. She smiles, raising both eyebrows in mock delight.

"Well, now, look at that. Dauntless can listen. You learn something new every day." I listen to her crowing, well aware that she's not about to shut up. I ignore her, instead widening my stance so my weight is in my heels. "Assume your positions, everyone. Winning team gets an extra half hour in the cafeteria tonight."

"What? That prize sucks. Last week we got extra tacos," Pete sounds put out, and he takes a few steps towards the beast. "Why don't we get more tacos this week?"

"Because it's not fucking Taco Wednesday," she retorts. "Get back in the game before I send you to run laps."

"I'd rather run laps," Pete answers, and he crosses his arms. "This game is rigged so our team will lose. We all know you like Bobby the best, and you put him on the other team knowing that our team won't get along and we're bound to lose. There's not a chance in hell we can win."

"Lord have mercy, what are you talking about? You think I have time to sit around and analyze your friendships before dividing you up?" Melissa puts her hands on her hips. "Pete, are you high? Did you have visitors from Amity this week? Was it your family? Tell your dad to quit bringing you that Amity delight every time he rides his horse up here."

"What? No! Why would you even say that?" Pete strangely looks embarrassed, and he glances at me quickly. "I'm not from Amity. Who even said I'm from Amity? They aren't even real people there. And my dad doesn't even have a horse." He rubs at the back of his neck, and the look on his face tells me his father very much has a horse, but better yet, that we are close enough to the Amity farms that he's ridden it here.

I tuck that information away for later.

"Eric, we'll still be friends, even if you lose. Okay? I'm just letting you know. Just wanted to make that clear before we start. In case you guys lose. I'm just warning you because we play this game a lot."

Bobby calls my name from the other side of the court. His team is ready to play. I don't recognize any of them besides Aidy, but I do catch sight of a few relatively sane-looking men near his age. The odds do seem unfairly stacked given the fact that our side consists of me, Violet, Pete, and Bella.

"Eric, we will not be friends if your team wins. I'm just saying. I'm just getting that out there now. Don't think you'll be able to sit at your table anymore. You'll have to make friends elsewhere," Aidy threatens me from her spot, waving the racket around in a circle. "I mean, it's been an absolute delight watching you nearly kill people every time we eat, but I will be seriously pissed off if we lose."

"Let's GO," one of her teammates interrupts loudly, clearly impatient for this oh-so-important event. "We haven't got all day."

"Can't you see he's getting ready," Pete yells back, swinging his racket idly. "He's gotta bitch about everything first before he can start."

I take a step away from Melissa, and I toss the shuttlecock in the air just a few inches, testing the weight of it.

"He's gotta let everyone know how cool he is. How this isn't what he wants to do, and how he isn't supposed to be here, but he is because…"

He doesn't get another word out.

I toss the shuttlecock into the air again, and when it falls at just the right spot, I slam my racket into it as hard as possible. The plastic projectile works just the way I thought it would. My close proximity to Pete means the rubber ball on the end slams into the side of his face, near his temple. He wasn't anticipating being hit and he stumbles, throwing his hand to his face.

"What the FUCK! Did you just hit me? Did you do that on purpose?"

I flash both him and Melissa a blinding smile. She's watching me with a funny look on her face and her eye twitches.

"Oh, sorry," I apologize, without a single ounce of actual sincerity in my voice. "I didn't see you standing there. Wow, I'll sure have to practice my aim."

"Eric….Eric, you uh… did you uh…did you purposely slam your shuttlecock into Pete's face?" The coach can barely get the words out. Pete makes a disgusted face and winces, and Melissa presses her lips together. "I mean, that's not really how you play the game. Faces aren't where we should be aiming our shuttlecocks at."

"Can you please stop saying the word 'shuttlecock'?" Pete hisses. He turns to look at Melissa, and I can tell she's trying hard not to crack up. It makes me smile even wider as I hand her my racket.

"I'll let myself out."

I walk away without waiting for her response.


	5. Rules are Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric finds out there's consequences for everything while getting an unexpected visitor.

"Did you do it on purpose, Eric?"

I would roll my eyes, but that would give Dr. Erin the satisfaction of knowing I was listening to her. So instead, I shrug and focus on the spot just to the side of her until my vision blurs.

"Are you aware that intending to harm someone, especially with premeditative intent, is enough to get you sent back to solitary confinement? We have a strict no violence towards patients policy here." She keeps talking as though I'm really listening, staring at me over her glasses. "We're trying to turn off the reaction that causes you to want to be violent. We're trying to teach you coping skills other than.."

"Then maybe you shouldn't force everyone to play such a violent sport," I helpfully suggest. I'm starting to get bored sitting here, listening to her drone on and on about how nonviolent they prefer their patients. I almost wish she'd just get on with whatever point she was trying to make so I can head back to the next stupid activity I'll be forced to participate in. Dr. Erin frowns deeply and shakes her head.

"Two incidents in one day doesn't look great. The orders from Dr. Branger are that you're to be sent to see her for counseling."

I blink and keep staring. The dot on her wall was once a hole, perhaps created by something tacked there. Now it sits there empty, blank, and blurry in the stale air of this office. I stare harder, so hard that I can see the dust particles floating lazily through the sliver of sunlight pouring in from her office window.

"Eric, did anyone give you a handbook yet, or have you sign any paperwork?"

I shake my head, watching the dust particles scatter in a flurry, then resume their lazy descent onto the desk.

"Alright, well, I'll get one to you. But you should know that the handbook states that—"

"Your handbook has a section on what to do if someone accidentally hits another person in the face with a shuttlecock?" I finally look at her, feigning innocence. "You and I both know it could have been an accident."

"You and I both know that it was no accident, Eric," Dr. Erin retorts. Bless her heart, she finally looks irritated. "You can't tell me that you accidentally served the thing right at him. I was told that just moments prior he was insulting you, and that your actions stemmed from anger."

Well, no shit. I didn't think anyone needed to waste years of their life in Erudite, slaving away for a paper certificate that would someday hang in a mental institution, to come to such an obvious conclusion.

"I was just playing a game. After all, that's what I was told to do," I point out, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other. She stares back at me for a second, then scrawls something on a piece of paper before sliding it across the desk. I watch her chew on her lip, as though she's contemplating what she just wrote.

"Eric," she says slowly, making sure she has my full attention. "I'm well aware of the games you're playing. And I'd suggest you knock them off."

She shoves the sheet of paper closer to me and motions towards the door.

"Follow me."

 

 

Dr. Erin walks me to an exam room.

After telling me to sit atop the examining table, she then leaves me alone. I immediately suspect that this is another test, because it had seemed to me like Dr. Erin wasn't thrilled with what was about to happen. The room I'm in is rather bland; there are a few medical posters that display the pathways of the brain, and several others that show some sort of advertisement for a serum. There's also all sorts of equipment, boxes labeled "sharps," and several large glass bottles of disinfectant sitting on the counter.

I could break one over Dr. Branger's head when she walks in the door, but I don't.

Only because I never get the chance.

I have been sitting on the examining table for no more than thirty seconds before she appears, papers in hand, ready to read me the riot act. When her words have no visible effect, she shakes her head, opens the door, and calls out two names I don't know. I watch her like a hawk when she pulls out the needle, drawing a clear liquid from the vial with the same label as the one on the wall; I stare her directly in the eye as she comes towards me.

"You chose this, Eric. And now we are choosing to help you," she says authoritatively. I'm unsure if it's me or herself that she's trying to convince here.

It doesn't matter.

My brain suddenly reminds me of something I'd been forgetting, something that I'd seemed to be neglecting since being dragged here.

Dauntless never give up, and I am still Dauntless no matter what they try to do to me.

I don't have to accept the fact that she's about to drug me again, and I don't have to sit here and take it. In fact, I've had enough of this loony bin. I lunge away from her as she reaches for my neck, easily knocking her out of the way, and am out the door before she can utter a word. I sprint down the hallway, past the other exam rooms, rounding a corner and coming to a halt when I see orderlies walking towards me.

"Hello."

I greet them coldly, hoping they'll think I've been sent on my way, but it doesn't work. Neither of them so much as blink through their blank stares. They take a cautious step towards me, ever on alert. I stare them down, calculating just how to get past them when I hear footsteps behind me.

"That's enough, Eric."

Dr. Branger sounds exasperated. When I glance over my shoulder, she's standing right there, syringe in hand, grimacing at me.

"I can see we're going to do this the hard way, then. Thomas, Eugene, a little help, please. We'll take him to Nancy's room afterwards."

At her words, I realize I've lost all control of the situation. The orderlies have me pinned up against a wall a second later, and no amount of struggling is enough to prevent the needle from piercing my skin. The needle slides into my neck, but this time, the sensation is almost pleasantly familiar.

Dr. Branger studies me as she wipes my neck off with an alcohol-soaked pad, the action rougher than necessary. "You're only making this harder on yourself, you know. And we want to help you." She wipes my neck again and sets the syringe down on the floor next to her. "We can help get you through this."

Her words seem to float in the air, almost visible in front of me. My lips quirk up, the effects of the serum already kicking in at an alarmingly fast rate. I can only guess she has increased the dose, because I swear I can feel the clear liquid rushing through my veins, coating each and every cell in my body until I feel like I'm made of marshmallows.

"I'm doing….just fine. I don't need your help. I need to go home."

I sound drunk now, the words jumbled and slow, and I lean back against the wall next to the door, sliding down to the floor. I can only give in to the feeling, even more so when just a few minutes later, I am yanked back to my feet, led to a room, and shoved face first onto a bed.

 

 

"You awake there, big guy? You got a visitor."

Kenan's words are as cheerful as ever, rousing me from a deep, dark sleep. I sit up slowly, rubbing my hands over my face and trying to get rid of the drugged haze that fills my head. Whatever Dr. Branger gave me was much stronger than the last time. I found myself completely unaware of anything, not even how someone got me back to my own room.

I swallow thickly as I sit up more, trying to ignore the way my stomach turns over queasily.

"You good there? You've been out cold for a while now."

"What time is it?" I ask, glaring over at him. He's standing beside me in his perfectly white outfit, stark against his skin, with a concerned look on his face. I wait while he looks me up and down, then extends his hand out towards me. "I said…"

"Take it easy there, tiger. They knocked you out good this time. A little less peace serum and a little more midazolam. You might want to get up slowly. You've been out for a good seven hours. Just take your time. Some patients feel a little nauseous after that shit."

I blink.

Fuck.

Seven hours of my life gone down the drain. His words only confirm my worst fears, that they have drugs far stronger than I'd thought, and they are willing to use them on me. If I don't start to appear a bit more compliant, I am going to spend the rest of my days here in a medically-induced haze.

"Why?"

The word comes out of my mouth as I ignore his outstretched hand and force myself to stand up. Everything aches; my joints protest and my muscles feel like they're being ripped apart. I stumble as my feet hit the ground, and I'm only steadied by Kenan's grasp on my arm.

"Protocol. That's the recommended amount of time for sedating a patient that's out of control. They think a little reset of the mind will calm you down, and that seven hours is the perfect amount of time." Kenan suddenly doesn't sound quite so cheerful now. He helps me stand in place, then motions at the door. "You missed lunch. And dinner. And showers. I figure we'll meet your friend, then you can grab something to eat and shower. You probably won't be too tired, but if need be, we'll get you something to help you sleep."

He begins to urge me on, helping me walk to the door.

A hot feeling begins to boil beneath my skin. It's sticky and uneasy, and I'm starting to realize I might be in over my head.

"I don't want it," I nastily inform him, but I sound less like the leader of Dauntless, and more like Four when he was asked to take the leader position: weak and whiny.

"I know, man. We'll see what we can do."

My bare feet hit the cold tile of the hallway. I walk on, furthered by Kenan's push, ignoring the wide, blinking eyes of Violet, who is standing in the doorway of one of the empty rooms across the hall. She watches me walk by, shrinking back slightly when I glare at her, her fingers digging into the ancient doorframe.

"Where are you going?"

I can't tell if she's asking me or Kenan. Before I can snap something at her, Kenan waves her off, reminding her that she left her books at the nurses' station. He grants her permission to go grab them if she hurries, and for a few steps, she quietly joins us. She walks beside me like some sort of apparition in an oversized nightgown, vanishing to take a right turn when we take a left.

"This way. Second door after the second right, and we'll sign you in."

Kenan keeps talking, his hand on my bicep. I glance over my shoulder again, catching sight of a barefoot Violet watching us, clutching books to her chest. I swear she fades away before my eyes, as every single ceiling light in the row darkens.

 

 

"Get me the fuck out of here."

My words are barked at Max, and he visibly cringes in front of me. Had I not been drugged to the gills, I would have attacked him. Leapt across the flimsy card table and knocked him to the ground. Tightened my grip around his throat until he agreed to get me out of here, no questions asked.

Instead, I sit here, my limbs still heavy and my head still foggy, and listen to him recount a woeful proposition from Jeanine.

"We're working on a few things. We just need you to cooperate. Give the factions the peace of mind of knowing that you're here, and that you're being treated, and that Jeanine has fixed the problem."

I bristle at his words.

"I'm the problem?" I cock my eyebrow at him and he shrugs.

"You know she needs someone to take the fall. It ain't gonna be her. This is all for show. Go along with it. Think of it as a little vacation."

I slam my first down on the table, and Max jumps. He's awfully edgy today, and I swear that if I were able to, I would rip his head off before he blinks again.

"Bullshit. This isn't a fucking vacation. They keep drugging me. Are you aware of that? That anything I do ends up with me being stabbed with something to keep me sedated?"

I'm close to screaming the words at him, but it makes no difference. He shrugs again, fidgeting with the edge of his jacket. His uniform is new, but wrinkled and ill-fitting. Upon further inspection, I notice he looks worn out, and the dark ashy circles under his eyes are fitting proof that he hasn't been sleeping very well. Maybe Dr. Branger can help him out with that.

"Maybe you'd like to stay here? You could take a little nap. You're looking a little run down." My offer is malicious at best, and Max tries to avoid making eye contact with me. He shakes his head, glancing up only when a nurse enters the room with a tray.

"I was told to bring this to you since you missed dinner. Enjoy. I'll pick it up when you're done." She's brisk, setting down a tray of food without ever really looking at either of us. She shuts the door with a quiet click, and I try to listen to see if she locks it.

She does.

"Eric…"

I glare up at him, so livid that his face appears red in front of me.

"What did she send you here to tell me, then?" I question, my tone sharp.

Max can read me, just like he always could. I see the shift in his entire being as he pulls himself upright, his gaze flicking over my meal. He knows I'm not about to like what he's going to tell me, and I can see him mentally preparing to share the news.

"Two months. She wants you here for two months. She thinks by then this will have blown over. You'll come back to your old position, and we'll reintroduce you as a way to reinforce what she's been doing. How they can trust her. You'll be her success story."

His words slice at me, cutting in just the right places. I spent years working for her, giving up on anything but what she deemed important. Sure, it benefited me in some ways. I'd never wanted for anything, and I'd never had an ounce of fear that things wouldn't go my way.

Up until now.

Until she needed a scapegoat, and here I was. One perfectly medicated and trapped scapegoat.

"I'll give her two more minutes."

I snarl the words from between my gritted teeth. I clench them down until the bone in my jaw aches and my entire body tenses up. I can feel the coils of anger starting low in my stomach, burning all the way to up to my eyes.

I could murder him, easily.

"I'm afraid I can't help you there. I'm just as stuck as you are."

Rip him apart, limb by limb. One arm, then the other. His head, twisting until his eyes pop out and his mouth goes slack.

"I go up against her, I end up here with you. It won't do any good. These are her orders, not mine. You do your two months here, we come get you, and this will be nothing more than a distant memory."

"That's not the point—" I spit out, but he stops me, rising up from his chair.

"I know what you're thinking, Eric. How you'd like to kill me. Kill all of us. And then what? You think they're gonna let you out of here? After you've proven to be exactly what she's trying to say you are? I'm not saying this is pleasant, and I'm not saying this is anything I'd want for you. But you'll have to just do it. Get through it the best you can, and I'll get you out of here as soon as I can. I'll try to get her to agree to a month."

He pauses, his brown eyes meeting mine. I can see a lot of things flash through them, but mostly fear.

"You have my word."


	6. Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric is forced to cough up important information about his life- life what he eats for breakfast...and his name ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much to everyone who has been reading and has sent your thoughts in on here or tumblr! I have to say I have such a soft spot for this frustrated version of Eric. Just know that this chapter starts the slow return of the Eric we're all familiar with. You'll start to recognize the tiny hints of our Fearless Leader as he struggles to carry out his sentence.

The clock ticks away endlessly.

I mentally keep track of each individual click, counting all the way to six before she speaks again.

"Did you like it? Your breakfast? They said you ate something the other day. I think that's a good start."

I close my eyes tightly, pretending that when I open them again, the woman next to me will be gone and I'll have been teleported back to Dauntless. But I know it won't happen. I can smell the stench of stale technology, I can feel the forced dry air being pumped into the room, and there's no mistaking the sound of her typing away, a definitive clacking sound that comes from only the oldest of keyboards combined with her occasional sharp inhale when I stop responding.

"It tasted like shit."

The clacking stops, and there it is, a loudly exasperated inhalation.

"Like actual shit or it just wasn't up to your standards?

I stay silent, finally opening my eyes to the glare of fluorescent lighting above me. "You think I've eaten actual shit?"

"No, I do not believe you would have. Can you tell me what you normally eat for breakfast in Dauntless? Was it something specific? Was it a routine? Did you eat the same thing every day?"

Dr. Branger hasn't really stopped talking since I walked in. She's only allowed for short pauses in which I'm to feed her small bits of information about my life so she can deduct what made me the man I am today. I want to tell her that eating a bagel and maybe a side of eggs didn't really spur me on to do anything other than start my job every day.

"No, it varied." I lean up the slightest bit, crossing my hands behind my head, and shut my eyes again as I settle back against the arm rest. "But mostly toast. We had a lot of toast."

The clacking begins again.

"Was the toast made in Amity? Or does Dauntless bake their own bread?"

"How the fuck should I know? I don't work in the kitchens," I snap, squeezing my eyes shut even tighter. I was starting to grow antsy at her questioning, which was expected since I'd been here for almost half an hour. When I walked in, it was forcefully suggested I lie down on the couch, and it was there that the torture began.

I'd been trying to oblige her, not because I had faith that Max would work out a deal and I should listen to him, but because it would be easier to get what I wanted if they weren't ready to stab me in the neck every time I turned around. So I lie there, answering question after question, with the shortest and sharpest replies I could. I didn't answer everything, though. I'd skipped over questions about my family, ignored her prying inquiries wanting to know if I was missing anyone in Dauntless, and instead stuck to the basic shit.

Like breakfast.

"There's a rumor that the Amity are becoming overwhelmed with the growing population. That they're falling behind on food production. I was thinking maybe Dauntless had come up with a way to be sustainable on their own." Dr. Branger stops typing, and I hear open her desk drawer. "Any thoughts that on that?"

"Oh tons," I sneer, wondering why she thinks I'd give a fuck about Amity and what they do. "And if they're falling behind then perhaps they should work harder."

"Harder," she parrots, and this time the drawer shuts with a bang. "I think they're working as hard as they can. But what if they run out of produce? Or live stock? Or have a bad season crop wise?"

"Not my concern," I answer coolly, and this time, I cross my feet at my ankles.

"It isn't? What do you plan on eating if they can't keep up with the demands?"" Dr. Branger asks, just as icily. I forgot that I'm supposed to know what goes on in every single faction at any given moment of the day, including the food production.

"No, it isn't. My concern was the safety of the city. Not what everyone has for breakfast. I can fend for myself."

"I'm sure you could." she asks, and I can just see her fingers poised over the keyboard. "Do you have any idea how they could better their farming systems?"

I swear this woman never stops thinking of questions to irritate me, because there's no possible was this can relate to anything I'm in here for.

"You want me to go work in the Amity fields and find out?" I ask her, sounding highly amused. "You'd have to let me out of here if you want me to go make sure they've got enough carrots."

There is one more exasperated sigh and I can tell she's done. Either that or she doesn't appreciate my thoughtful idea. I hear a few more hard clacks before I hear her chair squeak.

"Alright, I think we've made adequate progress today. I'll have you stop by the nurses' station for your medication, and then you can head on down to the rec room. You'll have a free hour before lunch, then mandatory group therapy this afternoon. You'll be expected to introduce yourself and say a few words about why you're here and maybe a few things you hope to overcome."

My eyes fly open as I will most certainly not be introducing myself.

"I'm sure you'll do just fine. And if you don't, then it's back to red you go but without sedation. After a few hours of staring at the wall, most people are usually ready to open up."

It's the last thing she says before I'm politely shown the door.

 

 

"Fuck her. I'm not introducing myself."

I snarl the words to myself as I swallow down a handful of pills. I'm too furious to pay attention to what color they are, and too irritated to do anything other than bark at the nurse at the dispenser. She looks the same as all the others, except she narrows her eyes at me as she marks something off on her chart.

"How are you feeling today? Any new symptoms?" She asks, and I swear she gives me a dirty look as I slam the paper cup down back on the counter. It crumples easily, much like she would were I in the mindset to show her just how I was feeling today.

"No, but then again I haven't had a single symptom since I've been here because I don't need to be here." I snap back at her, and I stomp off before she can say another word.

Fuck them all.

Fuck anyone who thinks I need to tell a bunch of idiots just what I'd like to work on. There was no amount of threatening that would get me to dare utter a single word about self-improvement, be it physical or mental. I'd gladly take staring at the wall for a few hours than listening to Dr. Erin drone on and on.

Besides, the only thing I'd like to work on was getting out of this dump, sooner than later.

I rub at the back of my neck as I head down the hallway, ignoring the glazed over stares from a few patients I don't know. I keep my eyes straight ahead until I reach the heavy doors with a stark sign posted above them. It reads REC ROOM in bleak, peeling letters.

I throw the doors open with more force than necessary only to find a startlingly quiet room.

After one second, I storm through the calm like I'm about to yank someone up by their neck and drag them in for questioning. In Dauntless, this would have sent men and women scattering. Here, the only person that looks up is Violet, and even then, it's only for a split second. She returns to her book immediately, seeming to disappear into the back of the couch.

I ball my hands into fists, realizing I'm waiting for someone to approach me so I can rip them apart. I'd normally have someone to take this anger out on, some bumbling initiate that happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, a solider that wasn't listening, or even one of my ow men, pissing me off over something trivial.

But there is no one in here brave enough to start anything.

They all stay quiet as I march by, stopping in front of the large windows and pausing to glance out. From up here, I can catch sight of nothing but trees and greenery, and I quickly try to map out the layout of the institution. This room must face the back of the property, because I don't see any roads or paths of any kind. I try think of the geographical location of Amity, but I can't remember where it's furthest border is.

I give up, growing frustrated when I can't remember anything other than rickety fence surrounding their farm, and I turn back around to find somewhere to sit.

Oddly enough the room is already full, and it looks as though everyone is reading. It's weird to see patients acting so quiet, but upon further inspection, most are muttering nonsense to each other. Violet appears to be the only one who may actually be able to read. Across from her, Bobby has a book open in front of him, squinting at the pages and furrowing his brow. More often than not he's glancing over at Aidy who's sound asleep on the chair next to his, her feet propped up on the lap of man reading a coloring book.

And then there's Pete, glaring at me from the desk in the furthest side of the room, all while he methodically tears the pages out of a book, one by one.

Defeated and annoyed by the lack of anything going on in here, I grab the first book off the shelf I can find, and I reluctantly sit down next to Violet.

She turns her head to look up at me again, dark eyes beneath her hair watching me curiously, but she doesn't move. The couch isn't large by any means, and it forces us too closely together for my comfort as I take up most of the space. But it's sit by her, or the woman mumbling about eating cats for dinner, so I choose Violet.

"Where were you this morning?"

Violet asks me, ever cautious and ever quiet, but she isn't looking at me. Her head is now bent down over her book, and I can barely make out the title on the top page.

I debate answering her for a moment. It's not really any of her business where I was. I don't report to her, nor do I give a fuck if she noticed I was gone. But on one hand, she might have some advice on how to handle Dr. Branger. So far, Violet had been honest with me, telling me that the pills were safe to take. She might even offer up some insight to how to get through the next few days without attempting to murder someone.

"Did they try to sedate you after your visitor left?"

She speaks again, and she's so god damned quiet that I almost want to shove her off the couch and see if she makes a sound louder than a whisper. I refrain, noticing Pete's intense stare still on me.

"I had to see Dr. Branger for some bullshit therapy session."

I make sure my own words are just as low as hers, spoken neatly between the two of us. Pete is still watching me, a murderous glare on his face as he rips another page, and I resist the urge to tell him that he isn't scary, he simply looks insane.

"They're all bullshit," she whispers, and she turns to look up at me as I open up the book to a random page.

For two never ending seconds, we stare at each other in silence.

"They get easier. Tell them enough that they'll think you're trying and they'll be satisfied. Ask them a question next time. All the doctors here like that."

Violet keeps her eyes on me, and I feel the urge to look away. Not many look me in the eyes, nor are able to talk to me without fear of what I'll do next. But she doesn't seem afraid, in fact, she looks more curious than anything.

"What kind of…"

"Violet, you shouldn't talk to him. It's not appropriate," Bella's sing songey voice interrupts us, and I have to taper down the urge to throw my book at her. "He's already been in isolation twice. You know what that means."

She stands before us with her hands on her hips and her nose in the air, and I swear to God, she looks a little too high and mighty for someone in a mental institution.

"It means there's a ninety percent chance he's going to end up back there. Because you know he can't go ten minutes without wanting to hurt someone. We've seen in it twice now."

Her words do exactly what she's hoping they'll do. I feel myself growing furious. It starts like it always does, somewhere deep in my stomach, rising up until I feel hot and antsy, the urge to punch her nearly unstoppable. I wouldn't mind seeing her in pain, and I certainly wouldn't have an issue making her apologize by any means necessary.

"Go away, Bella" Violet whispers, and I'm shocked Bella can even hear her.

"You're stupid to let him sit by you. We made a bet that he'll strangle you next. I saw him looking at you during Dr. Erin's session. He's planning on killing you next." Bella hisses the words, but she takes a step back, looking around furiously. I can tell she's nervous, suddenly twitchy as she backs up into an end table.

"Nah, I won't strangle her. You, sure. But Violet, not this time."

I make sure to look right at her as I speak, leaning back against the old couch, crossing my leg over my knee before I turn my stare at the book in my lap. I catch a glimpse of the furious look on Bella's rapidly reddening face, and I smirk when she flails in front of me.

"I'm…I'm…you you're rude! I'm telling them! I'm telling them that you threatened me!" Her words rise in pitch, so much that even Bobby looks over with a look of annoyance.

"Bella, shut up and sit down. Some of us," he pauses, looking right at me, "are trying to read here. Go have your meltdown elsewhere."

To his credit, Bella does.

She leaves the room with a huff, probably off to tell them what I said. I shut my eyes in frustration. If they believe her, there's a good chance I'll be drugged again, or threatened then drugged, or maybe drugged then forced to answer a few million more questions.

"Don't worry, the nurses don't listen to her anymore."

Violet's words force my eyes open, and I turn to look down at her.

"She's always running to tell them something. They won't come in here unless they get multiple complaints. This is their only time to take a smoke break before lunch, and there really isn't anything they'll cut that short for." She sounds pretty sure, and this time, her words are spoken at a bit of a higher level, so I give in and believe her.

"Great."

She doesn't say anything else.

I don't either.

For the next half hour I stare at the words on the page, letting them blur and unblur before me until someone calls us to lunch.

_Perhaps living through these petty days will get us ready for the dangerous ones._

 

 

"Can you tell us all your name, please?"

Dr. Erin stands beside me, smartly keeping a safe distance so I can't kill her, and cheerfully pushes me forward. Her touch makes want to recoil. Her hands are cold, and it drives home the realization that I'm standing before a crowd of crazies, in what would be considered pajamas, barefoot.

"You'll have to speak up so they can hear you."

The doctor takes a step closer, brushing her hair behind her ears. We'd been in this room for two whole minutes before she'd motioned for me to rise up and join her. I normally would have ignored her request, slunk lower in the chair and dozed off while someone named Margo talked about her fear of snails, but today I couldn't.

There were not three, but four orderlies, all in white, all with equally pleased stares on the face at the challenge that awaited them. Were I not to stand up and give them something, these men would be the ones to drag me off to solitary confinement. I'd meant to ask Violet if she'd been in it and how terrible it truly was, but Bobby had cut in between us on our walk to lunch, expressing his deep concern that I hadn't chosen to sit by him during our reading time. Not in the mood for such a riveting debate, I'd shaken my head and quickened my pace, easily losing him in the cafeteria. I ate by myself, angrily chewing what was supposed to be soup, while Aidy winked at me from a table over.

I was close to losing it.

Even more so right now.

I open my mouth, ready to tell Dr. Erin off, but nothing comes out.

"Just your name. We'll start with that. I've introduced you before, but it's your turn to open up to your fellow patients."

I try not to focus on any of them. Their faces all seem the same anyway; most of the women have long, unkempt hair. Always falling in their face, always air dried because anything else might give them the means to hurt someone. The men all looked alike, cropped hair except for Bobby's, and blank uninterested stares.

I was starting to realize that while I was swallowing down pills that did nothing, some patients took medication that left them zombie like. I didn't know any of them, but they all shared a dulled rage, one that told me that were they not heavily medicated, they wouldn't be cheerfully explaining their hopes and dreams.

Someone coughs, growing impatient with my failure to tell them my name, and I scan the room in annoyance. I want to bark at them that I don't want to be up here anymore than they want to be waiting, but I can't.

"We know it starts with an E."

My eyes land on Violet.

She's seated a few rows back, and I can barely make out her face except for at a certain angle. She's watching me from behind Aidy, and I swear when our stares meet, she nods her head slightly.

I can't be certain that it happened for a real, and I suddenly feel a bit off. Maybe I'm the one that's going crazy, but I don't have time to decipher it now. I focus solely on her, dark eyes, messy hair, and skin that looks like it hasn't seen the sun in years. She nods again, biting her lip and shifting forward in her seat.

She reminds me of someone right before they would step off the ledge of the roof and plummet into Dauntless. They were often nowhere near as brave as they portrayed, but they were ambitious enough to try.

She nods again, and this time, the man beside her nods as well. Then the man beside him, then woman next to him, then Bobby, until everyone in the room has given me the silent, sneaky, and unnecessary go ahead to introduce myself.

I swallow once, clasping my hands behind my back and pulling my shoulders up.

I wait to speak until I have their full attention, my voice loud and clear.

"I'm Eric."

_I'm one of your leaders._


	7. Dauntless Never Give Up Until They Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric's dreams cause an unexpected reaction. He finds himself forming a friendship with Pete while trying to figure out just what exactly Violet knows and why she won't tell him about this terrible place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much to BK2U for editing this chapter for me :) You rock!

Dauntless may never give up, but this time she does.

Her fingers, desperate and white knuckled, slip off the rail one by one as her eyes flash up at me one final time. They are full of fear, tinged with the tiniest bit of anger, then finally acceptance as she lets go, disappearing into the rushing waters below. I stare down as her small form slices through the water, plunging her far beneath the surface and into the dark swirl of the underground currents.

My lips press together, fighting off the urge to smirk at her misfortune.

She won't survive.

Max won't be happy that we've lost one so soon into the training, but the other initiates will understand why she went the way she did. I can see the raw panic washing over them as their eyes widen and their mouths fall open. A full minute passes before they realize that they've witnessed what happens when you don't know your place in Dauntless.

They've watched their competition, to some-their friend, to others- their foe, fall to her death for disobedience. Some stare at the floor, some stare at the rocks behind me, and most stare at the grated flooring that we're standing on . One in particular looks ill, her hand flying to her mouth in shock, brown eyes widening in despair that she couldn't save her, or maybe that she wasn't brave enough to try and save her.

After a few minutes, I smile as a few of them recoil in horror when they realize Christina's body has yet to surface.

 

 

I hold on tighter, gagging once more the nausea rushes over me.

"You okay there or are you gonna puke all night long?"

Pete's voice floats up over the ancient metal of a rusty stall. His voice is oddly concerned yet mostly grossed out. His appearance comes from out of nowhere, and while it warms my heart that he'd even question if I was okay, I can't answer him.

I'm too busy throwing up everything I've eaten in the past few days, maybe years.

"I'm fine," I eventually manage to gasp, trying to force my stomach from violently contracting again. I had woken up abruptly as my dream faded away to an overwhelming wave of nausea. I was barely able to stumble to the bathroom before throwing up last night's dinner. I felt defeated as I then continue to throw up repeatedly, until my own knuckles were white.

She'd never fallen, but I had.

This felt worse than anything I'd experienced, and I couldn't tell if it was the lingering dream or the burning of my stomach.

My first assumption was that it was something I ate, but I'd been especially careful to choose only things I'd decided were safe. Fruit, the weird bland toast, the eggs if they looked cooked enough, sandwiches made from the special bread that no one else would touch, and last night, the chicken.

It had looked harmless enough, but now I furiously swear it off for life as I start to gag again, only to sigh in relief when it ends suddenly.

"The fuck is wrong with you?"

Pete's face is the first thing that greets me as I exit the bathroom, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and trying to compose myself. Nothing was less respectable than vomiting up your guts like a brand new initiate on a bender, let alone in the communal bathroom of a mental institution. Before I can glare at him, Pete scrunches his nose at me, taking in my shirt and then my sweaty forehead and finally my sweat soaked hair.

"You uh, maybe you should take a shower? You still look a little green."

I ignore him and his strange concern until I catch sight of myself in the mirror. Gone is the clean shaven Eric that was brought here, and in his place is a man who does look sort of green, actually really green. He also looks unkempt, with long pieces of hair falling every which way, and an unshaven face since no one really trusted me enough to hand me a razor. I blink my eyes tightly because had I passed myself while out on patrol, I'd assume I was factionless.

That very thought hangs over my head, and I sigh heavily at Pete.

"Yeah, maybe." I grunt out, hoping I have the strength to even make it to the shower. I wonder why he's up and in here, but then again, I really don't care. I squint at myself in the mirror, shaking my head in disgust.

"I think I have a food poisoning," I mutter, but Pete doesn't look like he believes me.

"I'll be right back."

He says the words and I can hear the door shut, the room falling oddly silent. I splash some water on my face hoping it'll calm me down, but it does nothing but make me look like a nauseated drowned rat. Moments later, Pete returns before I can truly relish in being alone, eyeing me like I might throw up all over him. He has a reluctant looking Kenan with him, and they both point to the showers.

"I'll give you twenty minutes Dauntless. Then we'll have you go to the nurse and see what's up. They can give you something that'll help." Kenan announces, staying near the wall, completely unwilling to come any closer for fear of catching whatever I have. I feel a wave of exhaustion wash over me, the lack of sleep combined with the rolling feeling in my stomach, and I have to take a deep breath until I can look at him.

His expression is one of pity, and I grow hot when I realize this second time he's looked at me like that.

"I'm fine," I sneer, forcing myself to head towards the shower. I've made up my mind that I'll feel better once I'm clean, but I can't shake the shitty shaky feeling that's made itself at home in my stomach.

It stays there while I shower, reminding myself of the same feeling I had the first time I'd experienced defeat in Dauntless.

 

 

It's nearly three in the morning when the nurse injects something into my arm.

She smiles at me in a very polite yet tired manner, holding onto my forearm until she's done with the shot, then holding me still for a moment. Her actions feel strange, her fingers on the darkest ink of my skin, and she looks vaguely compassionate when her eyes meet mine.

"Almost done," she offers up sympathetically, though I doubt she's really very concerned. I'm nothing more than a patient here, no one that she actually gives a fuck about. She does a great job of pretending though, even watching my expression carefully.

"What is it?" I ask warily, eyeing the syringe as she finishes injected the medicine straight into my veins.

Since coming here, I've been injected with more things that I care to remember, but for some reason, this one makes me nervous. She could be making me sicker, weakening me so I can't fight back for whatever they have planned or she could be poisoning me as I sit here.

She claims it'll stop the vomiting.

"It's an antiemetic. You should start to feel better in about fifteen minutes. But if you feel like you need to vomit, there's a waste bin right beside you. This might make you feel a little tired, but typically there are few side effects and you should be able to sleep this off. If the vomiting continues, we'll have you come back here for further observation."

She tosses the syringe into the trash then turns to place her hands on her hips.

"You don't have any other symptoms. No fever, your pulse is normal, heart rate is within normal range," she then pauses, and I find myself staring back at her blankly. The urge to throw up is still there, but it's tolerable now. "With some patients, this happens after an emotional breakthrough. You can often feel sick or dizzy after an intense therapy session."

"Doubtful," I hiss, and she purses her lips together.

"You aren't sick," she says slowly, "It's more than likely all in your head. But that doesn't mean it isn't real."

I debate asking her where in Erudite she obtained her doctorate, and when that didn't pan out, what made her choose working here. But my brain feels like mush, so I shake my head, closing my eyes when the action makes me feel dizzy. "You're wrong if you think this happened because I said my name in therapy. It's not. It's something I ate. The food here in barely edible."

"It's not that bad," she offers up, and I pry one eye open to glare at her. She tries not to smile at my nasty tone, the corners of her lips twitching up a bit. "But I'll let the kitchen staff know you aren't enjoying it."

I slump back against the wall, flexing my arm as she moves to the counter. She makes her notes without looking at me, and I close my eyes as another wave of nausea, this time weaker, washes over me.

"How long did you say this would take to work?" I ask, wondering if she'd mind if I threw up on her. Maybe that would drive home my point that they food here is shit.

"Fifteen minutes it the usual reaction time. Why don't you go lie down and I'll have someone come and check on you? If you're not feeling better, we'll go from there."

I nod, not really wanting to walk anywhere, but it's better than staying here. She gives me a moment to collect myself, and I do my best to stalk past her without looking back. The hallway is dark and quiet, the lights dimmed to a night setting but still brighter than those in Dauntless.

I walk past a few orderlies patrolling the hallways, the same way I used to prowl through Dauntless just looking for someone in the wrong place at the wrong time. They eye me with the same cold stare, eyes trained on me as I round the corner, my muscles feeling tight with irritation.

The irony hurts more than I'd like to admit.

 

 

They let me sleep until I wake up on my own.

For once no one wakes me during their routine checks, or maybe I'm too drugged to hear them, whatever the case is, they let me sleep off whatever it was I had. I finally wake up after what seems like days, blinking in the bright afternoon sunlight. I'm no longer nauseous, but I do feel rather angry as I sit up, remembering that I'm still stuck here.

"Fuck."

I mutter the words to no one, shoving the sheets back. So far my plan to pretend to assimilate was failing, and there was nothing more than I hated than failure. I'd made one attempt to blend in, and in turn had wound up throwing up uncontrollably. The frustration is heavy as my feet hit the ground, knowing that my chance of escaping were slipping through my fingers with each passing day. The longer I was here, the easier it was for them to control me. To drug me as they see fit, to inject whatever the needed into my system, to prepare me for when they'd had enough of my stay and they decided I was done here.

There is a prick of nervousness that happens after that thought, but I force it away.

I try to rationalize my thinking, that I'm not just being ridiculous. The very grim reality is that they could easily wipe my memory, leaving me to bumble through their hallways until I die. To listlessly live out my life here, or maybe even send me to the factionless. The worst part of it would be that I'd never know. Or maybe I would. Maybe a small part of my brain would retain who I was, reminding me in the most quiet moments that I had life before all this.

I can't decide what was worse.

"FUCK THIS."

I swear again, feeling all together miserable at the thought of what could be coming, almost positive that this was my future.

"You rang?"

His words throw me off as Bobby appears in my doorway, bringing my morbid thoughts to a halt. He stands there grinning happily, and he holds a tall cup out at me.

"I brought you some tea. They said it would help your stomach since you missed breakfast and lunch. I didn't think you'd want to eat and dinner isn't for a few more hours, but Aidy said she has crackers if you need them."

He doesn't come in my room, instead he waits for me to walk to him. I wonder where in his mind does he think we are friends, but it doesn't matter. I gratefully take the cup from him, surprised they let him wander off with a scalding beverage, and I take a sip.

I'm not surprised to find that it's lukewarm.

"Thanks" I mutter. "What time is it?"

"Three thirty," he answers cheerfully, "Everyone is in group therapy except for me. It should be over now though. Dr. Erin said something about ending early because she wasn't feeling well."

"Why aren't you in it?" I ask, swirling the cup and watching the tea slosh around for a moment. It reminds me of my stomach this morning, so I stop, instead taking a sip of the drink.

"Well, I uh, I got kicked out for telling Bella to jump off a cliff. Dr. Erin didn't think that was very nice." Bobby looks guilty at his words, but he plays it off like he's cool, shrugging indifferently.

My lips curl up, the barest of a nasty smile emerging. He looks torn at his weak insult, but his actions towards the most annoying girl in this place brings me unexpected joy. I could pat him on his shoulder if I was into rewarding positive behavior.

"Good for you."

I take another sip of the terribly warm tea, following after him towards the rec room, dreading what's awaiting me.

 

 

Instead of heading directly to the Rec room, we make a quick stop at the nursing station.

Bobby explains he just needs to grab something, which is a thinly veiled way of saying he needs to take his mandatory and not at all optional medication. I watch him throw back what looks like five or six pills, the gaggle of nurses staring at me from behind him. For once they don't demand I take anything, and I realize this might be my chance to feel drug free. I might actually get to have a clear mind without something in my system if I can manage to keep them away from me.

"How are you feeling, Eric?"

One of them, the youngest of all with a name tag that reads Shelley, is smiling at me from behind the counter as she ignores Bobby. She bats her eyes at me as she toys with a notebook in her hands, her green eyes never leaving my unimpressed sneer. She has an easier look to her than the others, and if she were in Dauntless, I'd be able to take her home and fuck her before she even knew what was going on. She must be new here, and I can only presume she hasn't been told to stay away from me.

"Great. Can I borrow that?" I ask, giving in to her flirtatious stare just a bit and pointing at the notebook. "I'm supposed to be writing a few things down."

I throw her a something that's less of sneer and more of a dark smile. I wait while she bites at her lip, chewing nervously for a moment as she mentally debates handing me the notebook. She'll be stupid to fall for my excuse, for I'd rather chew my own hand off than write down a single word about how I'm feeling, but she doesn't know that.

"What do you need it for Coulter?"

One of the older nurses eyes me suspiciously, her gaze much sharper than Shelley's.

"I told you," I snap, my words dripping with disdain. "I missed therapy. I'm supposed to write my thoughts down since I didn't get the chance to share them with everyone."

The nurse glares at me and I wonder if she really believes the lie.

"I think it's okay. I mean, he missed his therapy class. Dr. Branger wouldn't want him to fall behind." Shelley cocks her head to the side at her superior, and the woman eyes me critically. I keep the nasty grin on my face, hoping she realizes that I could always reach over and shove the notebook pages down her throat.

"Alright. That should be fine," she finally gives in, and the reheaded newbie smiles brightly as she hands me the notebook.

"Thanks," I cock an eyebrow at her, turning away from her before Bobby can utter a single word.

He seems to understand that he should keep his mouth shut because he follows after me silently.

 

The rec room is nearly silent for once.

Everyone either half asleep or too drugged to notice my grand entrance, and it feels odd to walk into a room where people don't cower in my presence. I reluctantly took the seat on the couch beside Violet after Bobby takes the empty seat across from her. I am grateful for the silence, as I'm now fully prepared to use my time as wisely as possible.

Instead, I'm interrupted when Violet nearly kicks me as she unfolds herself out of her acrobatic position.

"Who was that man that came to see you?"

She asks me curiously, quietly, nearly silently, as she settles back down beside me. The reading room wasn't quite as full as I'd seen it, but I had found myself taking the seat beside her out of an unfortunately apparent habit.

"This chair sucks," Bobby announces loudly, kicking his feet off of the beat up coffee table in the middle. I can hear it squeak as he kicks it again and again, until he finally slams his feet back on top of it. I grit my teeth, trying hard not to kill him for making so much noise.

I'm not quite sure why he was expecting anything else, because so far, our accommodations here were dismal. The furniture in this room was all old, and it made me wonder where it was scavenged from. The loveseat we sat upon was a hideous pink color, but it was comfortable and worn in. I tried not to think about the crazies who'd sat here before me, probably drooling their afternoons away.

"Eric, that guy, he had a uniform on. Did you have the same one?" Violet asks me, still waiting for my answer. For some reason, her words irk me, implying that my uniform was a thing of the past. I lean back against the couch, nearly squashing her, and I open up the notebook Shelley had given me as she squirms to the side.

"He's a fellow leader in Dauntless. He came to inform me what's going on there," I bark at her, still unwilling to believe that he'd told me that I'd be here for two months. There was no way I'd actually carry out such a sentence, and it felt uncomfortable to think about it, and Violet didn't need to know that.

"Oh," Violet answers, and she sounds strangely disappointed. "Will he come back?"

This time, I turn to look at her.

"Yes, he'll keep me updated until I'm out of this shit hole. I need to know what's going on in my faction. I can't just spend my day sitting here, talking about how I feel."

I snap the words at her, feeling the smallest, barest twinge of regret when she seems to shrink away from me. My words are no personal insult to her, but she blinks, then looks down. I realize she's reading the same thing as the day before, but now with a black and white bookmark sticking out a few pages ahead.

"He didn't stay long," she whispers, and my eyes flash at her. "I saw him when I was walking back that he was leaving. He looked nervous."

I smirk.

"I'm sure he is," I retort and I turn my attention back to the notebook in front of me. In addition to the notebook, I'd also been granted the rare luxury of a pen, though I'm not sure that was a wise decision. I could easily stab someone's eye out, or push it through their windpipe if I tried hard enough. I poise my pen over the paper, prepared to start making notes so I won't forget what's happened to me since I've been here, and I stop in horror when I realize something.

I have no clue what day it is.

I have no clue how long I've been here.

I try to think back to when they brought me here, my mind racing wildly as I try to count the days. But I can't, because it's all a messed up blur. Between being isolated, being sedated multiple times, waking up in the middle of the night and falling asleep mid day, I can't figure it out.

The nausea returns and my stomach turns over sharply.

"What day is it?" I ask Violet, my words sharp and tight. I hate having to have to ask her, but out of everyone here, she's the most likely to know.

"Thursday," she replies, and she looks up at me again. "Are you trying to keep track of how long you've been here?"

She locks eyes with me, and this time, I nod my head without a second though. Her eyes are so dark that they almost look black. I jerk my stare to the side, noticing that her hair looks rough, like someone had hacked it off with kitchen shears, but it's dark and shiny and in far better shape than anyone else's.

"You've been here a little over a week," she answers quietly, her fingers skimming over the edge of the book.

"What?" I nearly drop my pen. "That's not right. There's no way it's been a week. I got here on…"

Violet waits patiently for me to answer her.

But I can't.

I swallow, turning to stare at the blank pages in the notebook.

I can't remember when I got here, let alone how many nights I've been stuck here.

Fuck.

 

 

Forty five minutes later, the page is still blank. I can't bring myself to write down anything now that I can't remember the date, and the whole idea seems pointless. I have the urge to throw the notebook at the wall, but I don't. I just sit there, watching Violet occasionally turn the pages in her book until Pete appears in front of me, telling us it's time to leave. I stand up, my actions painfully automatic and I head towards the door, preoccupied with my own thoughts.

My brain is still whirling, working over what to do. Not knowing the date was dangerous. In Dauntless, initiates barely knew what day it was, but that was a concrete decision on our part. We purposely didn't count down their days for them, letting them flail around in a blur of training and sleep. They either worked harder at an endless pace, or they let it get the best of them and gave up in exhaustion.

This felt oddly like that, uncomfortable and purposeful. I bite down on my cheek as and I make it to the doors when someone taps my shoulder, effectively jarring out of my head.

"You smoke?"

I turn around in surprise, for not many dared to ever touch me. I stop abruptly half way through the door, causing Violet to crash into me. I shove her out of the way, one hand grasping her bicep to keep her upright when she stumbles.

"Why?"

I stare at Pete, my hand still on Violet's arm, as Bobby frantically tries to wedge himself near me. It seems that everyone in this place is needy, always vying for attention or wanting to be noticed. Bobby is no exception, and he reminds me some of the initiates as they desperately clawed their ways through the ranking. Trying to press a reminder into our minds of just how worthy they were of staying. I glare at him when he knocks my hand away from Violet, placing his hands on his hips when she takes a step back, her eyes narrowing at Bobby.

"Do you? I thought you might." Pete is staring at me with a funny expression, one far too hopeful looking for someone that I'd tried to strangle.

"He can't go. He does not have that privilege. And you know that!" Bobby announces loudly and I chew on the side of my cheek. "He's still on…"

"He can go," Pete retorts, looking slightly put out. "I can take him with me. Guest pass. I have a ton of them."

"Well, no. You should be using that on someone else. Someone who actually smokes. And smoking isn't good for you. It causes cancer among a multitude of things and besides didn't you lose your guest pass after they caught you and…"

"Where do you smoke at?" I interrupt Bobby, taking a step closer to Pete. I don't smoke, not routinely. But if Pete is stepping outside, then I willingly inhale nicotine for a few minutes just to get a better idea of where we are. "Outside?"

Pete nods, a slow smile crossing his lips. "Yeah, man. We'll go sign out. We get a few breaks during the day. You normally have to be on a higher color, but Shelley's working the check out. She'll let you come with me."

"Pete, that's not…"

"Lead the way," I smile, ignoring Bobby's high-pitched protest as I follow after Pete without a second thought, past a few mindless patients milling around.

 

 

The fresh air feels almost luxurious on my skin.

I take a drag from the cigarette, effectively ruining said fresh air when I exhale a cloud of smoke.

Turns out Shelley wasn't just new, she was an idiot. She didn't ask what color I was on, nor did she bother to even check. She gave both of us laminated cards that reminded me of something from my primary schooling, then pointed to the large doors at the end of the hallway. Pete had winked at her, and the two of us left before she could say anything else. We walked down several flights of stairs until we reached the bottom, then Pete typed in a code that opened up the heavy doors below an exit sign.

I memorized every step we'd taken, including the code.

4321 wasn't really a blistering password, but it was easy enough to remember.

"Changes every day," Pete informs me when he notices me watching. "Sometimes they forget. But it's supposed to be something different so no one remembers it."

I nod, and seconds later, the doors had opened up to a large outdoor area that backed the forest. It didn't take long for me to realize it was fenced in. It wasn't as high as the fences surrounding the city, but it was high enough that you couldn't scale it, or wouldn't want to try. The top had what I could only assume was electrified wire, combined with a few sharp spikes that stuck up every few inches.

"I bet you're wondering if anyone's ever climbed that?" Pete raises an eyebrow at me, and he grins. "Bobby tried. Once. Made it halfway up the security lookout before he had a panic attack. It took four guards to get him down from there. Spent a week in solitary since they thought he was a threat, like he could actually get out. The only threat was to the poor guys who had to drag him up the staircase."

I nod, taking another drag of the cigarette before I decide to play nice.

"How long have you been here?"

Pete's cheeks flush red at my question. He rubs at the back of his neck and I watch him mentally debate his answers for far too long.

"Close to a year," he finally mutters.

He then tosses the cigarette to the ground, and kicks at it with his shoe. I notice he's got a fairly normal pair of trainers on, though there are no shoelaces in them.

"A year. Why?" I stretch my shoulders back, not really giving a fuck why he was here. I try to scan the area behind him, looking for anything that could be helpful. Unfortunately, there's nothing remarkable there. Just tree after tree, with a thick patch of leaves that cover any trail that might be visible.

"I uh…fighting. I got kicked out for fighting." His answer is mumbled and then he shrugs at me. "It's uh, frowned upon. And before you ask why they didn't just make me factionless, I was having some…some personality issues. That was what they said. They sort of stuck up for me, but I ended up here. I guess I haven't made enough progress to be let out yet."

I feel the familiar prick of irritation at his words, because all they do is reaffirm my theory that no one ever leaves.

"Have you ever seen anyone leave here? Ever?" I ask, and I shut my eyes when shakes his head.

"Well, one guy. He was brought here from Erudite. Had on weird clothing. I thought maybe he was from Candor, but the rumors said otherwise. They brought him down to another level. We only saw him a few times at meals. Barely spoke, never made eye contact. Eventually he looked normal, though. They let him out after a few months but it was weird. He asked to stay longer, but these guys came and picked him up."

Pete tilts his head to the side, and he stares right at me. "He screamed for a while when they came to get him, until they injected him with something. Dr. Branger said he was suffering from a panic disorder. Never saw him after they took him."

"Lovely." I toss the butt of the cigarette to the ground, and turn back to the building. I glance up a few stories, and I swear I can see faces looking out of one of the windows. "Where would you go if you left?"

Pete shoves his hands in his pockets and I can tell he's clearly uncomfortable.

"Dunno, man. Maybe…maybe back home? You'll go back to Dauntless when you're done here?"

I ignore his question when the face in the window vanishes and something pulls at my spine.

"What are the other levels? Are there patients on all of them?"

"Uh, I guess. I've only been down one floor. Electrotherapy. Dr. Branger doesn't believe in it, but except in really low doses. I've only had it done once. Never again. It did cure my urge to punch Bobby, though."

I nod, my stare stuck to the window as the face comes back, blurring before my very eyes.

"You uh, you ready to go back in?"

"In a minute," I answer him, staring at the windows.

There's something odd about this place, about Pete's story and a man he never saw except for a few times, and about this face in the window, watching my every move.

"How hard is it go get to the lower floors?" I ask.

Pete smirks, and shakes his head.

"Man, all you gotta do is be crazy enough. They'll take you anywhere you want."

 

 

"What happens on the other floors?"

I hiss the words at Violet, taking the seat beside her. I'd fallen into the depressing routine of sitting at the same table as before. It was full of familiar faces- Bobby, Aidy, Bella who looked like she was due for her next mental breakdown, Pete, and Violet. I made sure to sit by Violet, taking up enough space to make sure no one else could sit on our side of the bench.

"Have you been on them?"

She looks up from her plate of noodles and I notice she looks strange. Her expression shows a few signs of horror, but it mostly stays neutral, like she can't show how she really feels or maybe she doesn't want to tell me.

"Um, yeah. They're treatment floors." She pauses, and she leans in towards me. "You have to be taken down there. But you don't want to be. Why, did they say you're going down there?"

I shake my head no, keeping my mouth shut when an orderly slams down a plate of toast in front of me.

"Compliments of the chef, your majesty."

I ignore him, looking at Violet instead. "Why were you down there?"

This time she stays mostly silent, ducking her head down towards her plate and answering so softly that I can barely hear her.

"It was for the best."


	8. Hypnotism for Dummies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric tries to get vital information out of Violet while Dr. Erin takes matter into her own hands regarding Eric's recovery. Eric's day's is only bettered by an impromptu yoga class that leaves him surprisingly cheerful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to BK2U for editing this chapter for me!

"Why were you down there?"

I ask her again, scooting closer to her so she's sort of trapped on the bench unless she wants to fall off. I'm not sure why it's so important I know why she — specifically she — was taken down there. But it feels imperative somehow, burning in my brain as she looks away from me, her stare falling to the plate on the table. I wait impatiently, shifting closer to her until my knee touches her leg.

"Violet, you can tell me."

I say the words lowly through gritted teeth, trying to sound nice. I fail miserably, mostly because I'm not nice, and I'd much rather hiss the words at her. If she were an initiate, I'd snarl them in her face, backing her up until she was pressed against a wall and then holding her stare until she caved in.

Here, my options are limited. I lean in closer, repeating them in the same low tone, though really, no one is listening to us. Bobby has long since become distracted by the overcooked meatloaf, and Bella is loudly whispering that she saw me outside with Pete and how wrong it was that I was there. One seat over is Pete, loudly ignoring her by making a tower out of breadsticks, one that reaches a terrifying height for something made out of garlic bread.

"Aidy, hand me that peanut butter so I can glue this together," he instructs enthusiastically, elbowing Bella as he reaches across her. "Thank you."

"Violet," I snap, and this time she looks directly at me.

"It was…it was just something that they'd do if they thought you needed it. I didn't ask to go down there," she finally answers me, and the expression on her face looks defeated. "I didn't want to go. But I don't think they'll take you there. It's a little…outdated."

"Outdated?"

"Erudite has come up with far better methods. They consider it sort of…barbaric. But you don't need it. You're too…it's just not what they'd do to you, okay? It's for people with real problems."

Her words are bothersome; maybe it's the fact that she's thought about what sort of treatment I do deserve that irritates me. I try to figure out what she means by real problems, but I've got nothing, except a feeling of burning annoyance that she thinks I don't have real problems.

Being stuck here is certainly a real problem.

"It hurt. Every time. They always promised it wouldn't, but it did. Sometimes, you couldn't remember what happened, and sometimes you could. If you could remember, it was worse." She pauses, then bites her lip, and I recognize the second where she seems to collapse into herself. "They only did it if you were out of control, if they thought they couldn't control you with serum."

She stops, and the room seems to buzz around us as we stare at each other. I try to catalogue everything she's told me, though I can't think of a single reason why this girl would need to have her brain shocked by volts of electricity.

"Okay," I answer, swallowing heavily, and for once, I can't think of anything else to say. We lapse into silence, despite the noise around us.

"Hey, uh, you guys gonna eat that toast? Or are you just gonna sit and have some deep, intellectual conversation over there?" Aidy interrupts after what feels like an hour, reaching for my plate without warning.

Neither of us answer her, not even when she takes it away, nor when Pete's tower of breadsticks comes crashing down, peanut butter and all.

 

 

"Everything here is safe, calm, and peaceful. Your eyes may feel heavy and want to close. Let your body sink naturally down as your muscles relax. Listen to what your body is telling you, but remember, you are in complete control of this time. You will only accept those suggestions which are for your benefit and that you are willing to accept."

I stare at Dr. Erin, hating her with every fiber of my being.

I left lunch feeling so unlike myself that it hurt. I wanted to punch at something until my hands bled. I needed to move, to run or scream or shoot, anything other than remain locked up here. Instead, I was nearly tackled by an orderly, taken to Dr. Erin, and told to head into her office.

Once there, I sat down, and I was briefly informed that I was going to make up the therapy session I'd missed earlier. I then decided that this would be an easy throwaway hour, a bullshit therapy session that I would breeze through. I figured I would spew a few details at her that she liked — something about progress, something about change, maybe even asking what I could do to get a pair of real shoes. It would pacify her enough that she'd think I was trying, and I'd be one step ahead of the game.

Instead, she pointed to a chair and told me to sit down and get ready for something she'd been meaning to try. Fifteen minutes later, she was sitting across from me, speaking in this low and even voice, and she told me we were going to try something new.

She was going to hypnotize me.

I smirked.

It sounded stupid, but I had to admit there was a spark of fear burning when I realized it wasn't entirely farfetched. We had serums powerful enough to induce a hallucinogenic state, so fucking with my mind wasn't entirely out of the question.

I just didn't think it would work without a serum.

But the longer I sat there, the more she seemed to wear me down. Eventually, her monotonous tone made my eyes close, and I felt myself leaning back against the couch, my mind slowly growing blank as she repeated her mantra over and over.

I heard her speak one more time, her voice soft and gentle as she instructed me to listen to her and only her, before everything went black.

 

 

"Eric, are you okay?"

The words are gently whispered at me as I push my palms flat against my face, trying to force myself to wake up.

"Eric."

The voice whispers again as the bed dips slightly. I sit up and open my eyes to total darkness, impatiently waiting for my eyes to adjust against the black swirl. The room is hot and uncomfortable, and panic works its way up, inch by inch, until I can feel it in my chest.

"What the…"

"Eric!" Violet whispers urgently, and I realize she's kneeling right beside me.

The room suddenly returns to focus as if it had been lit up like the inside of the Pit during happy hour. I can see her clearly now, her hair a damp mess and her dark eyes wide. Her pajamas are askew, like she hurried over here straight from her shower, somehow sneaking past the strangely watchful eyes of Kenan.

"What the fuck are you doing in here?" I bark at her, ready to shove her off the bed. For some reason, I don't; instead, I sit up straighter and stare at her. "How did you get in here?"

"Did it work?" For once, Violet is not compliant with my orders. She ignores my question, pushing herself a tiny bit closer to me. "Can you feel it?"

"Can I feel what?" I ask, starting to wonder what the fuck is going on. "Why are you in here?"

"They said it would help you, but I don't think anything can." She looks a bit uneasy now, though her words are clear and sharp. I stay perfectly still, not even swallowing down the bile in my throat.

"It didn't work on me, either. But it's okay, Eric," she tells me, smiling with a hint of compassion beneath her bleak grin. "I just came to check on you."

Her concern is palpable; she leans forward, moving closer to me until she's nearly sitting in my lap. She examines me intently, so closely that I can smell whatever she's washed her hair with, and I recoil back.

"Violet," I start to say her name, but she moves closer, this time settling herself on my lap.

The sensation is foreign yet vaguely familiar, like she could be any woman who's ever fallen into bed with me. I freeze as I suddenly can't move. It's like I'm trapped beneath her, and though it would take very little effort to throw her to the ground, I can't bring myself to do it. I swallow as the room darkens again, the lights flickering as her forehead touches mine.

"You'll be okay. Promise."

My spine hurts suddenly, sparks rushing through each and every nerve, leaving behind a burst of pain.

"Someday."

Her fingers touch my cheek, tracing upwards until she reaches my ear and I jerk back as though she's burned me. My eyes fly open to a white room, my sweat-drenched body aching as Dr. Erin stares at me through her glasses.

"Everything okay, Eric?"

The room is white. Starkly white, with even whiter fluorescent lighting and white wallpaper. This isn't my room, there is no bed, and there is no Violet seated upon my lap, touching me in any manner.

Fuck.

I blink, feeling shaky once again, reminiscent of the initiates who stumble out of their fear landscapes after their first time.

"Eric."

I swallow heavily to keep myself from panicking. I'm trying to ignore the lingering image of Violet's face so close to mine, and her scant apology that she was sorry that no one could help me. I swear I can still smell her, even though my brain is now screaming that it wasn't real. It was nothing more than a dream. There's no logical explanation to it, no reason I'd be thinking of Violet checking up on me, no correlation to what Dr. Erin had been attempting to do.

She can't really hypnotize me.

"Eric."

I nod my head, closing my eyes again and trying to slow down my racing heart.

You'll be okay, I promise.

"I'm fine," I tell her, gritting my teeth together. "I'm just…it's hot in here."

"Did you see something? Did something happen?" Dr. Erin asks carefully, her pen poised over her notepad, waiting for me to answer. Her face mirrors the same blank mask I've worn myself, impassive and cold, while she waits for me to crack.

I shake my head, refusing to give in to this bullshit.

"Nothing."

"You look awfully pale for nothing to have happened."

I can hear her pen scratch at the paper in front of her, and I have to restrain myself from snapping at her.

Instead, I compose myself, ignoring the ache in my back. I smile widely at her, sitting up straight and pulling my shoulders back as I clasp my hands between my knees. I wait until she makes eye contact, the mask slipping away a bit when I bare my teeth at her.

"I saw myself getting the fuck out of here."

 

 

I lie on the uncomfortable bed, my hands behind my head, staring at the ceiling.

I am on edge; I can feel every single cell in my body individually screaming, demanding I do something. My earlier urge to run has become all-consuming now, far beyond anything I could comprehend. I'm starting to feel like they are winning, that this isn't something I can win or work through like I'd planned.

They're fucking with me on a few levels. It went beyond a simulation, beyond forced verbal therapy. I'm becoming unhinged, and it's all because of the sneaky way she got into my mind. I went somewhere I couldn't control, my body betraying me as she whispered words to me that I couldn't really hear.

I am realizing that this situation is out of my hands, no matter how hard I try to correct it. I have little choice in the matter, but I know I have to keep focus. I still have one main goal, and that's to get out of here alive, to leave as the same Eric that came in here.

And when I do, I will make Jeanine pay for what she's done, I'll make Max pay for what he's done, and I certainly will make Harrison pay for his part in this.

I can see myself clearly, walking back in through the gates, the highest ones that guard the faction. I think of the faceless soldiers that work the posts, armed with guns that weigh more than most are comfortable carrying. I think of the high buildings that surround the compound, the large, rotten opening that hopeful initiates fling their bodies into.

I think of my faction far beneath the ground, safely hidden from the world.

Right now, it would probably be bustling with activity, slowly coming to life in these dark hours. There would be fires lit in the Pit, music starting up as alcohol is sloppily poured into cup after cup, people filing in to forget about their day. The hallways would be freezing and quiet, but the heart of Dauntless would be alive.

I can almost feel the buzz as I lie here and listen to the guards make their rounds.

"You good, Dauntless?"

My door is only halfway open, and a man who looks similar to Kenan sticks his head in. He waits, making sure I'm in the room, and then he calls out again.

"You good, dude? You're my last check for this shift. Need anything?"

"I'm fine."

My answer sounds dull.

I'm not stupid. If I told him I needed something — a drink, a book, a nightcap, a way out — he isn't going to grant my wish. He's simply making sure I'm alive and breathing, and that I won't be a problem. Rushing past him would be stupid, since there's more of them at every turn and every corner, and only one of me.

"You've got class in the morning. Rest easy, big guy."

I close my eyes.

I lie there for a while, listening for the click of the door shutting, and eventually I realize it never comes.

 

 

The doors opposite my room are numbered.

I read them silently, scowling until I reach the sixth door. This last one is open a bit, revealing a slice of light that spills out into the hallway, darkened only when I step into it.

I push the door open, my eyes scanning the room quickly until they find Violet, perched atop her bed.

 

 

Her hands grasp my hips, trying to shove me downwards until I violently jerk away.

"If you're too far over your wrists, readjust until your spine is shaped like a V and not a U."

Her voice is dreamy and disturbingly slow; I feel like I'm trapped in a bad simulation, one that has taken me to the Amity farms and won't end no matter how badly I want it to.

The guard last night was correct; after eating a quick breakfast of dry cereal, we were led down to the gymnasium with great enthusiasm. I had no clue if it was actually Wednesday, but there was already something in the air, something crackling and weird that made everyone seem excited for whatever we were doing. I stuck by Bobby, not sharing in their excitement when I realized we really were doing yoga.

The gymnasium felt odd and quiet as we entered it. There were lots of mats set up, neatly arranged in rows of four. Coach Melissa was pleasantly absent, and in her place was some young girl from Amity who looked like she'd happily had a few too many servings of peace serum. She was sort of pleasing to look at when you considered who she was replacing, but she spoke at a gratingly slow pace, and I wanted to punch her in the mouth when she announced for the third time that this was meditation in motion.

"Now, inhale."

She somehow makes the word nine times longer than necessary, touching me again until I raise my head to glare at her, which results in her stepping off the mat completely. I'd only mockingly participated because I saw Dr. Branger walk through the room, her gaze stuck on me. She'd smiled encouragingly, and I'd sneered back at her until she looked away, having seeing enough.

"No, like this," Amity's highest member instructs, returning to my side. She demonstrates how I'm supposed to bend over, and she moves to touch my side and guide me forward. Her hand is warm and unwelcome.

"Fuck off," I snarl at her, wondering if this dense woman really thought I was going to perform such an activity. It takes a minute, but she must finally get the hint. She removes her filthy hand from my shoulder and steps around a frowning Violet.

"How long is this class?" I ask her through gritted teeth, ignoring the look from the Amity loon now in front of us. She floats away, off to adjust Bobby's head for the umpteenth time.

Violet, who is having no problem at all holding her body in this warped position, shakes her head before looking back down at the ground. She's pulled her hair up into a ridiculous-looking bun, but it makes sense considering mine is currently flopping in my face.

"An hour. But most people give up after thirty minutes." She obediently steps her feet forward, rising up with the rest of the class as Daphne, or whatever the fuck her name is, instructs us.

"She's gonna give us a water break in a few minutes. Sometimes I sneak outside and stay out there. She doesn't ever notice. You'll hear when they're done because Bella will start screaming about her chakras not being aligned or something."

I nod my head, my stare fixed straight ahead, counting to a very high number when Pete falls out of his posture and laughs hysterically as Daphne uselessly tries to help him up.

"Great."

 

 

We sit with our backs against the ancient brick wall.

Despite being forced to sit my ass down on cold cement, it feels far more comfortable than jamming my spine into a position it doesn't want to be in. I don't want to admit that it still hurts from whatever Dr. Erin did, so I decide to suck it up and keep quiet.

Besides, outside is sort of pleasant, and it no longer feels odd to sit beside Violet, not even with my bare feet and flyaway hair. It isn't that I've adapted, not by any means. But last night I walked into her room, freezing in place when she looked up at me, utterly unable to ask her the questions I've been dying to ask.

I badly want to know why she's here, what she did that landed her here, why she did it, and why she had been treated on a lower level. I want to ask her to spill all the secrets of this place, because I know, down to the very marrow of my bones, that she knows what is going on here.

There's something off with this place, if one looks just beyond the structure of it: nurses that seem pacified by spending their days caring for patients who will never leave, two doctors who are young enough that they could have promising lives elsewhere, and what appear to be plenty of patients who have never tried to get out.

I wanted to ask Violet about all those things, but the words died in my mouth when she blinked up at me, a smile crossing her lips.

She had looked normal.

For a moment, I felt like I was in Dauntless. Like I was walking into the apartment of someone who lived there, and not the room of a mental patient. Her walls were decorated with all kinds of things: old posters of stars and oceans, printed-out pictures of who I can only assume were once her family and friends, pictures painted in a therapy class, and several quotes, all withered and worn. The lamp beside her bed was not the generic gray one I'd seen in the other rooms; this one was gold and ornate, the lampshade detailed with red flowers. There was a hoodie tossed over her dresser, and a few piles of clothes — all worn, but decidedly normal-looking — strewn beside it. My heart sank below my ribs, and I froze.

She'd been here long enough to make this a home.

I immediately grew nauseous, my pulse quickening when I realized I didn't want her room to look like this. I wanted the bare walls and the tiny beds, the shared dresser and the barred-up windows. I didn't want a soft-looking comforter, or her shoes neatly arranged beside a window that clearly opened up as widely as she wanted it to.

It was clear that Violet had their trust, and she was no threat to them.

So, I didn't ask her anything. I'd turned and walked out, and neither of us had mentioned it.

Until now.

"Why were you up last night? Did they give you something that kept you awake?"

She tilts her head up so she can look at me. She's seated with her feet straight out in front of us, her legs bare. For once, she's barefoot as well, though I suppose that's only because it would feel weird to do yoga in shoes.

"I was looking for Kenan," I lie, examining the grass around us with great interest. Judging by the way she snorts from beside me, I can tell she doesn't believe me.

"You were expecting to find him in my room? I'm not really his type."

It's the first time I've ever heard her try to make a joke. Her voice sounds different —lighter, and less afraid. She reaches down to pluck a stray flower, twirling it around a few times. To me, it looks like nothing more than a wild weed, but she carefully picks the flower petals apart, watching them drift to the ground, one by one.

"They don't really lock your doors, especially after the first week. By then, they think you're so used to them checking or locking or shutting them, that you'll stay in your room on your own and not cause any trouble. They also ease up on following you around. If they didn't shut your door, and no one came after you when you walked out, that means they think their program is working."

She pauses, and it gets so quiet that the only sound is the birds chirping in the distance.

"Pretty soon, they'll move you up the chart. I wouldn't be surprised to find that you'll have shoes and a razor tomorrow."

I look down at her and she looks back at me.

"You'll want to shave, won't you? Most of the guys do. At least the coherent ones." She raises an eyebrow at me, the one I can barely see beneath her hair. "You looked very different when you first came in here."

"Yeah, well, no one's exactly offered me anything sharp, so…."

She smiles and finishes ripping the petals off completely.

"They wait. They're very careful with what they allow you to have. It would be careless to let you have a potential weapon, you know. I mean, did anyone tell you that Bobby isn't allowed to have any sort of scissors? Not even during arts and crafts. He'll take them, and he'll tell you he wants to cut his hair, but that's not what he'll use them for. He likes to cut up things, anything really, to calm his nerves. It's a nervous tic, but it's dangerous. He could lose it and stab someone. Bella isn't allowed to have shirts with buttons. One day, she ripped them all off one shirt and tried to swallow them. And Pete, he isn't allowed near animals. Not even during the animal therapy trips. He tried to bring back a miniature pig once, thinking no one would notice."

She pauses, taking in my expression of disbelief.

"Kenan lost his mind when he found it. Pete forgot to hide the pig and it came running down the hallway, squealing loudly. It had pooped everywhere, and Pete was forced to stay on red for months."

"No one noticed he brought back a live animal?" It's my turn to cock an eyebrow at her. She shakes her head, grinning again.

"I guess not. They don't watch you all the time, especially if there's a distraction going on. You'll start to notice their attention waning after a bit. It might be different with you, especially because you have important visitors, but typically, after the first few weeks, they consider you broken in."

I bristle at her words, and she can tell.

"I don't mean they'll break you in," she says softly. "You're too strong for them. You have something to fight for. Most people in here don't. They'll fall in line with whatever they're expected to do."

"Do you have something to fight for?"

I hate that I ask her, but I need something to distract her for a minute. I can feel myself already getting ahead of my thoughts. She's told me more than I could have hoped for. If she's right, they'll start to lose some interest in me, sooner than later. Even if they only lessen up the tiniest bit, it's still more leeway for me to work with. And her mention of animal therapy has me intrigued. She made it sound like they take the patients somewhere, and there's only one faction with livestock.

"I…"

"What exactly are you two doing? Class is not held outside," Daphne interrupts us, standing to the side of us with her hands on her hips. For a moment, I think she actually might look angry. But then she continues speaking, and I realize she's just stupid. "Were the postures too hard? I thought you looked like you'd be able to do them. You appear to be very fit."

"Fuck off. We aren't interested," I snarl at her, hoping she'll go away.

But she doesn't.

She's staring at me, a lingering gaze that makes my skin itch when her eyes fall to my chest. "You two need to get up now. Class isn't over."

"Pretty sure I said you could fuck off. We're not doing yoga." I make sure to emphasize my disdain at the word yoga, and I sit up a bit straighter. "Go back to your class."

"You're in my class," she points out, her voice still too high and too annoying. She takes a step closer to me, and I swear she looks like she might pounce on me. "They told me you were in great shape, and that you need a workout to reduce some pent-up tension. I have more than a few ways I can help with that, but I need you back in the class. Now. But you can stay out here if you'd like, Violet. I know you don't think very highly of this class."

I raise both my eyebrows at her, before turning to Violet. I'm fully prepared to mock this lunatic, but the sight of Violet makes me freeze. She's lost the carefree attitude from before, and she's now staring at the ground, her shoulders up by her ears and her eyes downcast. Violet, the one person who was actually good at what we were doing, was just dismissed by this girl.

"For the last time, I said fuck off. Violet and I are staying out here."

Violet's head snaps up when Daphne stomps her foot like a petulant child.

"You need to come inside," she pouts. "You won't get any credit for the class if you don't."

"Fine by us." I roll my eyes, waving her off. "By the way, half your class just hightailed it out the door. Good luck chasing down Bella. I hear she can run fast."

Daphne's expression changes to utter horror when she turns her head to the side, realizing I'm not lying. I watch as Bobby gleefully sprints through the doors, throwing his arms up into the sunlight.

"Yes, yes, SO LOVELY! I am one with the Earth! I have the infinite wisdom of the trees!" he mocks, or maybe he truly believes the mantra Daphne repeated forty-thousand times, as he heads towards the fence. He's followed by what must be the entire class, and Daphne turns red as she turns to rush after them.

"Wait! Get back here! Class isn't OVER!"

She shrieks the last word, the peace serum in her system clearly not strong enough to dull down the fury of realizing that she's lost all control. I smirk when she takes off running, and I nudge Violet with my elbow when she trips, nearly taking Aidy down with her.

"Bitch, let go of me!" Aidy shrieks at her, kicking her leg wildly as Daphne stumbles beside her.

"Good fucking luck, lady. Have fun getting everyone back in the gym," I call out, leaning back against the wall.

Beside me, Violet smiles, and this time, I don't totally flinch when her hand brushes against mine.


	9. Art Therapy 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric tries to get to the bottom of Violet's story, but finds himself falling down with her. Literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to BK2U for editing these chapters :)
> 
> Thank you so much to every single person who reviewed this last chapter or is now following along!!

For the next half an hour, Violet and I enjoy the spectacle unfolding before us.

Despite her best efforts, Daphne only manages to wrangle a few back into the class. The rest are goners. It reminds me of the initiates, spilling out of the Pit after being allowed out for a night. Lots of screaming and yelling, followed by running away from the lone chaperone trying to corral them into staying alive.

I smirk as Pete skips by us once, snickering and ducking as Daphne tries her best to catch him, oblivious to the fact that it's a lost cause since he's much faster than she is. The rest of the patients fill up the grassy areas, delighted at their newfound freedom. I raise an eyebrow at Violet as I find unexpected joy in Daphne's total failure, even more so that I'm sitting out here in fresh air and warm sunlight. It feels glorious, like a rush of the best sort of drug this place could offer.

Unfortunately, it's short-lived.

It's not long before Kenan appears with a paper in his hand and an unamused expression on his face as he surveys the chaos. He finally spots Violet and me, and though he now looks amused, he instructs me to follow him. I vaguely wonder if I'll be blamed for this incident, the downfall once again pinned on me. I glance at Violet out of the corner of my eye as I force myself to stand up and she smiles, but not very hopefully. I want to tell her I'd much rather sit out here than go along to wherever he's taking me, but I don't really have a choice and there's a speck of curiosity that I can't ignore.

It's a shame, really.

I've never been an outdoors type of person, but I could have easily spent the afternoon sitting there.

 

A few silent minutes later, I find my curiosity turning into rage.

I discover that Max has sent a random guard — some fucking kid with red hair who can't make eye contact — to bring me a package. The lackey scampers off the minute I arrive at the nurse's station, vanishing through the doors with a single glance back at me. I can feel his stare prickling at my skin when his gaze gets to my bare feet. I narrow my eyes as his dark uniform retreats, until the burn of seething jealousy fills my lungs with every breath I take. Luckily, it tapers down the minute the heavy doors shut and click into place.

"What is it, Coulter?"

I turn to the nurse beside me, forgetting about the little Dauntless shit almost immediately. I have other things to focus on, though words can't express how badly I would have loved to bash his head into the wall and slip his uniform on. There's no doubt that there's a truck waiting for him, ready to whisk him back to Dauntless. He's lucky Betty is standing beside me, a permanent scowl fixed on her face as she waits for me to show her what he's brought.

"How the fuck should I know?" I snap, reaching to open it up.

The box is plain, but bears the Dauntless logo stamped across the top of it. My name is written on the label, along with a stamp marked confidential. That's a laugh, considering nothing here is confidential. As soon as I open it, under the watchful glare of Betty and a few of the institution's guards, naturally, I realize it's a fucking care package filled with clothes. It's a lousy peace offering, one that's mostly loungewear and absolutely nothing threatening: pajama pants, a few black shirts, a watch that they promptly confiscate, some file folders marked IMPORTANT, and a memo with the Erudite logo. There are also a few books, and I feel ill at the idea that someone was sent to rifle through my apartment to collect my things.

I stop when my fingers touch my boxer briefs, imagining someone, quite possible Harrison, going through my shit. My blood boils and I have to try to keep my composure in check before I launch the entire box in Betty's face.

"Anything in there that could be used as a weapon?"

The guard that asks sounds suspicious, but Betty shakes her head. I know she doesn't trust me, but she watched me open everything up. She's still standing there while I shove everything back together.

"There's nothing, really. They sent clothes and some light reading."

Betty sounds mocking, but I ignore her. I leave the file folder for last, only because my curiosity is piqued. I force myself to casually glance down as though I don't really care what they've sent, giving Betty no reason to want to look at it any further. She takes a step closer to me, much closer than necessary, and leans in so only I can hear her.

"It goes against my better judgement, but I'll let you keep 'em. Don't try to give anyone a papercut. I'll be watching you," she warns, and I roll my eyes.

"Papercuts aren't really my style," I retort. I'd much rather use the papers to slit her throat, but I remind myself I'm trying to behave. I shove the files in the box with the rest, and wait until she decides she's good with everything they've sent.

"Take your stuff to your room. You have art therapy in an hour. Don't be late."

I leave without saying goodbye. I head towards my room quickly, pleased that she's failed to inspect the papers enough to read the scrawled notes in the margins. Especially the one in Tori's tiny handwriting.

"Look at these carefully. You're one of them."

 

I shave one stroke at a time.

I tilt my head back, making sure that the skin under my jaw is smooth and clean, as each swipe reveals the Eric I remember. I feel practically normal as I finish up, splashing water on my face and staring in the mirror. I may be overdue for a haircut, mine having grown out some during my time here, but I looked enough like myself to be satisfied.

The razor had been handed to me by Kenan on my walk back to my room. He'd smiled when he gave it to me, like a proud father or something equally as embarrassing. He'd even gone so far as to pat me on the shoulder, though it held no mockery.

I still ignored him. And while the razor was far duller than I'd ever used and I'd had to shave while he stood beside me, it was what I needed. I felt more normal than I had in weeks. I hated that it was because of their fucking privileges, but at this point, I'd take them.

After I'd dropped off the box from Max, I'd been accosted by Shelley. She gleefully showed me my name on a color chart, and proudly awarded me a yellow sun with my name on it. I'd raised one eyebrow at her, snatching the sun out of her hand without another word and wondering if she knew I'd flat out refused to participate in their latest class. The whole idea of this system is stupid, but it has proved to them that I'm stable enough to earn a few privileges: new toiletries, a pair of shoes — albeit ones without laces — and a pass good for one free activity.

As I finish up shaving, I cheekily ask Kenan if I can use it to take myself on a field trip to get some fresh air. I ignore his barking laugh as I towel-dry my face.

"Fuck no, Dauntless. You ain't walking yourself anywhere off this property. But I will tell you that you look as handsome as the day you were brought in here. That's the ol' murderer we know."

"Good to know you approve," I smirk, handing him the towel and ignoring his own cocked eyebrow.

"What am I, your towel boy?

"Something like that. Thanks for the company," I pat his shoulder as I walk by. "It was enjoyable as always."

"Fuck off and carry your own towel, Dauntless," Kenan hollers after me, but the bathroom door shuts before I can be bothered to respond.

I stalk down the hallway and turn the corner, nearly taking out Violet as she rounds the corner at the same time as me. Her eyes widen in surprise as I steady her, and she stares up at me for a long time. When she finally says something, I wish she hadn't.

"You look like you did when you first came here."

Her gaze is piercing. For someone so timid, she's far nervier than the Dauntless. No one there would dare stare at me the way she is right now, nor would they comment on my appearance. But she examines my face until she's satisfied that it's me, then she smiles as though she approves.

"You look like you're from Dauntless again," she tells me, still waiting for me to respond. "Do you feel better?"

I can't answer that just yet. The word Dauntless makes me feel hot, as if it's embarrassing that I'm not there. I find myself staring back at her, until I can nod my head slowly.

"Good," she offers up as quietly as ever, and she looks down at my feet. "You got shoes, too. I told you they'd trust you."

"They should."

My answer sounds rude — cocky and arrogant and laughable, considering they have absolutely no reason to trust me. I'd been sent here with the title of murderer and labeled unsafe to be around others. Them assigning me a color that allowed me any privilege, no matter how minor, only showed the stupidity of their belief in their own program.

"I'm gonna head to the rec room to read. Would you like to come along?" Violet offers, and I find myself answering without hesitation.

"Yeah, sure."

I accept her offer immediately, not at all because I'm honored by her invitation, but because there's something I need to do, and I need it as quiet as possible.

 

 

The dates on the reports I'm reading start to piss me off. I've been looking at them for an hour, the days blurring before my eyes, until I slam them down on my lap. They make no sense to me, and it makes even less sense why Tori would send them along with a note saying I'm in there. I try to search them for something that connects the events to the day I wound up here, but I have nothing.

They are simply incident reports filed by no-name guards on our squads.

"Are you still looking at those?"

Violet's voice breaks the silence in the room. She sounds more worried than curious, and I shrug my shoulders.

"Yes. Only because I can't figure out why they sent them."

Confessing that to her makes me feel ill, but I've come to realize that she isn't as bad as the others. She won't really hold any judgment over me, and in fact, if I really think about it, she's a little too normal to be in here. Her whole persona feels odd; she is subdued, but it doesn't seem like it suits her. I can understand that she's skittish given the circumstances of where we are, but her quietness seems almost like someone has made her that way.

"Why can't you figure it out?" she asks me, very seriously.

There's a long pause as I squint at her and she squints back at me.

"Because I'm looking for something about these events that's important, but I can't figure out what or why. There's nothing there. And I can't research anything further, so this is all a waste of my fucking time."

Violet stares back at me. After a moment, she bites her lip and leans in a hair closer. "Can I look at them?"

"Knock yourself out." I nod, not at all bothered when her arm touches mine.

We're sitting on the same couch as always. The room is almost entirely deserted this time of day. A while back, she'd explained that people have the choice of reading or watching old movies with the nursing staff. She'd also told me that before I arrived at the looney bin, she was often the only one who chose to read. I don't mind when she sits beside me, and I find her company to be almost expected now. It feels good to sit without the craziness of the others, and even better not to have anyone breathing down my neck.

I watch as she glances at the papers, slowly taking them from me and flipping through the files one by one until she stops at the second to last page. She narrows her eyes in concentration, then flips through the pages again until she stops on the same page as before.

I know what she's looking at — each report is understandable in a basic sense — but I don't know if she'll put it all together.

The first page is an Amity incident report from when a young farmer was thrown from his tractor and hit his head. There were no witnesses and no security footage. An Erudite doctor announced that he had suffered a head trauma and was later pronounced unfit to return to work. The man later claimed he was pushed off the tractor. Dauntless was sent to investigate, but found no suspicious activity other than him vanishing without a trace when he never returned to work.

The second page was an incident in Dauntless, when a man who worked the fence was fighting for fun against his roommate. A day after his scheduled shift, he was found unconscious in the Pit. Guards investigated, but found nothing out of the ordinary. He didn't appear on any security footage, except for when he was last seen in the Dauntless infirmary. But it didn't show his return to work, and attached was a missing persons report from his girlfriend, filed a week later.

The third page was an incident in Abnegation, when Dauntless guards were not allowed inside the home of a woman who had been yelling for help for hours. She eventually quieted down, but she later was reported missing, never to be seen again. There were no witnesses.

The fourth page was an incident report for Candor, when a young man was found to have died from head trauma by an unknown force. There was a missing persons report attached, citing two nameless individuals as suspects in the death, and announcing that Jane Doe and John Doe were missing and considered very dangerous.

The fifth paper was a Dauntless memo regarding interview protocol when interrogating a suspect.

Violet lingers on the fourth page before she suddenly shoves the papers back at me and shakes her head.

"I don't want to read them anymore."

Her mood turns somber quickly. She turns away from me, angling her body towards the side of the sofa, and returns to the book she'd been reading. I watch her toy with the page for a minute, then she looks back at me, making sure I'm looking at her.

"Did you go all those…all those times when Dauntless investigated what happened?"

"No." I press my lips into a fine line. "That's not my department. I'd only be sent out if there was a threat or some sort of issue that required further investigation beyond what the guards found. These all found nothing, and they were closed pretty quickly aside from the missing persons reports. But we got plenty of those all the time."

"And what happened to those people? They never found any of the ones who went missing?"

"No. They give them a cursory forty-eight hours of assistance, but we often find nothing. The factions are huge. There's not a very high chance we'd find someone in the woods, even with our cameras." I shake my head, and she nods.

"Oh. So the cameras don't catch everything?" She looks right at me, staring up until I have to confess the answer I'd rather not.

"No. They fall offline quite often. They can also be manipulated, or footage can be deleted, depending on the area or who's working. It's not uncommon for entire sections of recordings to be recorded over to save space if there's nothing important on the tapes. Even then, sometimes important stuff gets covered up. Our technology department is severely lacking."

My answer seems to pacify her a bit. She turns quiet again, and I return to staring at the pages. I give up after a few minutes, and I look over at her. She's still reading the same page, her head bent down and her shoulder scrunched up.

"Is that book good?" I ask, and she shrugs.

"Well, it's not the worst I've read. But I think I've read everything there." She pauses. "Do you have books in Dauntless? Are you guys allowed to read or do you just light them on fire?"

I find myself smiling slightly. If only she knew that I had more books than probably the entire faction combined.

"We have a few. The faction isn't big on reading unless absolutely necessary."

"That's a shame," she answers, and she pushes her book closed. "It's nice to read next to you. I was just wondering if you had a library in Dauntless."

I don't say anything.

I think of the dark underground faction: the drunken fights in the Pit, and the sprawling parties that take place almost every night. I think of the initiates struggling to stay in the game, the guards patrolling the faction for endless hours, and the long nights I'd spent in my apartment, desperately trying to seek out some quiet time. I try to imagine Violet there, trying to a find a place to read and realizing there isn't one.

Even with all that on my mind, I swallow heavily and slouch back against the couch.

"You're thinking about home, aren't you? You've had enough of it here," she asks very quietly.

"Of course I am. Haven't you? If they opened up the doors and said 'get out of here', wouldn't you leave?"

"I…I guess so." Violet closes her book and she looks at the door as though she's expecting someone to come barging through it. "I mean, yes, I'd leave."

"Where would you go?" I turn the conversation back to her and this time she flinches.

"Nowhere," she tells me, shaking her head. "I don't have anywhere to go, Eric. Not like you."

She sounds pathetic now, and her answer makes my teeth hurt. I feel myself slip back into the Eric that feels familiar, the one whose words are sharp and painful on purpose, the one who wants to shake her until she wakes up.

"Is that why you stay here? Because you don't have anywhere else to go? Because you don't seem like you should be here. You seem like someone who would be completely fine outside these walls. Except I can't figure out where you're from and why you're fine with living here. It's a little odd that you're this comfortable in an insane asylum."

At my words, her expression changes to something I'm very familiar with.

Fear.

My stomach burns when I realize I've done it.

I've made the one person that I can actually stand in this shithole afraid of me.

"I'm…I'm from..." she stumbles over her words, so quiet that I have to bend towards her, until my head nearly touches hers. "You know…I have to go, Eric."

She jerks away from me as though I've struck her. She jumps up from the couch, tearing out of the room without looking back. I look down at my lap as the door slams shut and I sigh.

She's left her book beside me, and when I look at it, I suddenly feel something sharp and awful that I've rarely felt before. It burns in my throat and rages through my whole body, painful and persistent.

Disappointment.

 

 

My shitty moods lasts throughout the morning.

It wouldn't take a psychologist to figure out that I had taken my frustration out on Violet, and now I feel like a piece of shit. I just can't figure out why. She's no one to me. I don't really give a fuck what happened to her, yet it's bothering me, the scene replaying through my mind over and over until I find myself wishing I'd never asked her anything.

It makes me despise everyone. I scowl through lunch. I shove Bobby out of my way so I can sit by myself, and I pretend I don't hear Bella informing everyone that I'm cranky because they won't let me kill people and my hair looks terrible. My palms itch with the urge to smack her, but I refrain.

Instead, I chew my food with a vengeance, ignoring the worried looks from Aidy and the gentle questioning of whether something's bothering me from Dr. Branger.

 

 

An hour later, my shitty mood has intensified. Even better, it seems to spread through the room like the plague, infecting each person who dares glance at me.

It has already been a painful twenty minutes in the art therapy class. Much to both my and Pete's annoyance, the art teacher has taken a strange liking to me, and seems determined to ignore my rage. Maybe it's because she's never met anyone from Dauntless before, or maybe she just really feels like she can change my temperament through macaroni art, but I'll never know.

Because I don't care to find out.

I sit with my arms folded over my chest while those around me construct figures out of uncooked noodles. The room is crowded, the air is hot, and Violet has been missing ever since she fled the rec room after my interrogation. A table over, Bobby is working feverishly, sloppily gluing noodles together until they form some sort of statue, all while Louise wanders around the room offering words of encouragement. Occasionally, she'll frown as she stops to help someone glue something together, but for the most part, she's sunny and annoying and oblivious.

"Eric, I'm making you the most special of all gifts. It's a statue of you and me. To show our never-ending friendship."

Bobby makes the announcement loudly enough for the entire room to hear. I grunt in his general direction, refusing to partake in this ridiculous event, and instead I scan the room for an exit. But there isn't one. The room is filled to max capacity with patients sporting glazed expressions. Bobby's table has plenty of people enthusiastically gluing shit together, and two that are sleeping. The table behind his has mostly people gazing at the walls, the ones decorated with bright paintings. I find the artwork strangely optimistic considering they were done by mentally unstable patients.

"Eric, did you hear me?" Bobby yells, despite sitting no more than five feet away from me.

"He heard you, fucker," Pete yells back.

Bobby had been irritated beyond belief that Pete had sat by me, and Pete had become irritated when Louise asked him to move. I didn't give a fuck who took the seat, but I have to admit that I don't mind Pete so much anymore. His attitude tells me he feels the same way I do: that this activity is stupid and this place is worthless. I could force myself to begrudgingly understand their reasoning for the personal counseling sessions and the in-depth group therapy, but gluing shit to paper isn't going to cure anyone.

Especially not the lady who's been barking for the past ten minutes.

"Mind your own business over there, Pete!" Bobby cheerfully calls back.

Beside me, Pete rolls his eyes. After being brightly threatened by Louise, he'd taken to stacking his macaroni in a circle. He then made some strange sections down the middle, until it reminded me of something used in a satanic ritual.

"You mind your own business. And you know what, Bobby? Your friendship is gonna end when Eric gets out of here. Then what are you gonna do? Cry all day to Bella? You're stupid if you think Eric's gonna come back here and visit you," Pete taunts him, dumping some red glitter onto his project with enough enthusiasm that it flies up into the air.

I blink at him through the haze of red sparkles.

Pete's words are a surprise to me. I had no clue my leaving had even come up, considering no one seems likely to ever leave here. At the next table over, Bobby's head snaps up and his eyes find mine. He looks wounded, his expression dark as he looks down at his statue, then back to me again.

"Eric…you'd really do that? You'd leave?"

Oh, fuck. For a moment, I wonder if he's serious. Of course, I'd leave this shithole. I resist the urge to roll my eyes again, not wanting to appear completely exasperated by his dumb question.

"Would I leave here? Yes, I'll be leaving as soon as I'm done," I announce loudly, and the room goes silent. Louise freezes from across the table as Bobby flounders, panic washing over his face.

"But you aren't leaving yet. You haven't even told us your story," Bobby protests, and his voice shakes. "In group therapy, we haven't even heard about your childhood, or your adolescence, or or or or…"

Fuck no.

I narrow my eyes at him and I lean back even further. "You're good. You won't be hearing any of that."

"But Eric-"

"Eric, you'll need to make something. This is worth almost all of today's participation points. If you don't, they'll put you back on red."

Aidy's voice of reason breaks up the one-sided argument Bobby is having, but I still glare at her. Of course, she's only trying to reason with me. We've been sitting in this room for half an hour now, but only because each person is required to be here. I sneered when Louise passed out plates and noodles, directing us to build a statue that represented ourselves. Her only instructions were that the statue must rise upwards, for none of us could fall any lower than we had. It would signify our growth, our desire to elevate ourselves, to be a better version of ourselves.

I nearly vomited.

I wasn't about to make a statue out of anything, let alone macaroni, but the thought of being put back on red is a bit more motivating when I know it means spending hours locked in a room or drugged until I agree there is value in stupid art projects.

"She's right, you know. We'd hate to have you clip down to red," Louise kindly explains, and she looks relieved someone else is trying to defuse the situation.

I fix the most condescending glare on my face, and I slowly reach forward until I have a fistful of macaroni. I slap it on my plate, then reach forward to grasp the glue, squeezing it hard enough that it explodes everywhere, never taking my eyes off Aidy. I ignore it when it falls off my plate and onto the floor, hitting Pete's shoe.

"Eric, that's rude," Bella sniffs. "Who's going to clean that up?"

"You are," I taunt her.

I stare directly at her as I scrape it all together until it's a pile of noodles and glue, then I sneer at her until she looks away.

"That's lovely, Eric. Inspiring. Really," Aidy remarks dryly, tilting her head to the side to stare at the disaster on my plate.

"Eric…er…that's not quite…that's not really a statue…"

Louise smiles at me the way I smile when an initiate does something incredibly stupid. She blinks again and again before sighing heavily. "You'll need to make it recognizable. It needs to be…"

"You said make a statue. It signifies this very place that you work at." I lean towards Louise, and I smile, making sure to bare my teeth. "It's a mess, just like everything else here. Are you trying to say you don't like my interpretation of how I see things?"

Louise stares at me, chewing her lip for a moment.

"It's not that…it's…"

"Are you really insulting his masterpiece?" Bobby asks, and he swings his stare around to Louise. "You said however we interpret it. You can't get mad at someone's interpretation."

Louise opens her mouth, then closes it without saying anything.

"It's garbage," Bella pipes up, coming around like the world's best mental patient helper. She reminds me of Four, sticking her nose in the air and looking at me like I've murdered her kitten. "He's just doing it so he can get out of it."

"That makes no sense," I mock her.

"Why are you so RUDE!" Bella shrieks, and she slams her glitter down. "Get a life, ERIC."

"Bella, go away. Go find your husband. I heard he was fucking the cleaning lady. Said he likes the way she manhandles him," Aidy offers up, sounding bored as she glues what I can only assume is a dick to the front of her macaroni statue. "I heard he told you he wanted to see other people."

Bella's face goes red, and I swear her hands ball into fists.

"Why, you little jerk. You think you're so funny, but you're not. You're just as insane as everyone else here. And you…" She points her finger at me, and she looks so mad that she's shaking. "You think you're too good for everything here, but you're a disgrace to your faction. You think you're going to get out of here and you'll go back to Dauntless and things will be the same? They won't even want you back. And you think you're safe there? Well, you're wrong…" She starts to grow hysterical, but Louise interrupts her.

"Bella, go sit down. And Eric, if that's how you're feeling, then fine. That's a great interpretation of life, that it's full of messes and chaos…"

"And friendship," Bobby interrupts, but I can't hear him.

I can't hear anything.

I've grown unfortunately furious, Bella's words striking the worst and most fragile nerve left in my body. If this lunatic wanted a way to get to me, she certainly found it. It's what I've been thinking about for a week now, agonizing over how to get out of here and what I'll do when I go home. Would I ever be able to trust anyone again? Would I ever sit in my own office without wondering if Harrison was planning my next downfall?

I suddenly can't breathe.

It's like my lungs tighten, the lining sticking together until I feel lightheaded. I stare at the macaroni in front of me and the blur of faces as everyone watches me, including a smirking Bella, until I stare right at her. I reach forward until I grasp what I'd made, and I crumble it up, smashing each noodle to pieces, never taking my eyes off Bella as I fling it right at her face.

 

 

This time, the peace serum tastes like strawberries.

Betty narrows her eyes as she and another orderly observe me swallow it down with great enthusiasm. Fuck them all. I knew what was coming, and this time, I welcome it.

The destruction of my sculpture had left Bella hysterical. Hysterical enough that I was deemed a threat to her, but the kind of threat that could be neutralized with a nap. So, I was escorted into the hallway and immediately offered the option of downing the drink or choosing six hours of solitary confinement. Betty had a reinforcement with her, someone named Brody, and I could tell his hands were just itching to force my jaw apart or drag me down the hallway, so I gleefully ripped the cup from her hand and swallowed down the serum.

"Just…just take it and go lie down, Eric." Dr. Branger pinches the bridge of her nose and she turns to look at Louise. She'd been summoned, arriving moments after I got here, and she looked worn out and pale. "Who the hell scheduled him for art therapy? I thought we talked about this. He's to be watched..."

"He was doing fine. It's a defense mechanism, a breakthrough moment when he was being verbally attacked—"

"No one attacked me," I inform them, feeling a bit unsure when the ground sways woozily. "They asked if I would leave this place, and I said yes. Sorry, I don't want to hang around a mental institution for the rest of my life."

Dr. Branger shakes her head, but not at me.

"He's made progress. He's socialized by his own choice, and we've sent the reports onward. My instructions are clear, that he's to attend things that we can get him through. Classes and therapies he'll actually complete..."

"I'm right here," I loudly announce, wondering why she's ignoring me. It takes me a minute of trying to speak again, when I realize the serum is faster than I am, and my words are slurring as though I've had a few too many drinks. "You know what, fuck you….allllll."

I stumble into the hallway, a heavy feeling washing over me. I realize I have only a few minutes left before I'm rendered unconscious. I struggle to remember which way to go, my hands on the wall to keep me upright, and I walk as fast as I can.

Someone calls my name, warning me that I might fall, but I don't look back. I keep going, eventually turning left.

"Yessss."

I hiss the word when I stumble towards my door, ignoring the strange look of the girl walking towards me. For a moment I panic, thinking they've sent someone after me. But once she gets closer, I realize it's Violet, her black eyes wide with worry.

"What did they give you? What happened?"

She steps close to me, reaching out to touch my arm. I try to swat at her, but I stumble and my eyes close a bit.

"Nothing, I'm fine."

It's what I try to say, but I don't know what exactly comes out of my mouth.

"Eric, did you…did you get in a fight with someone?"

Violet, fucking Violet and her stupid hair and her stupid fucking face won't leave me alone. She keeps staring up at me, blurring before my eyes as I fumble to open my door. I want to tell her to go away. That she makes me feel weird, worse than peace serum, worse than any simulation, worse than anything on this Earth.

"Eric, what happened? Did someone—"

"Violet," I slur, and her fingers dig into my side, meaning to keep me upright. She's about to fail miserably, seeing as how I weigh a whole lot more than her. "You know what, I know that… even if… even if I had orders… even if they tried to make me… I wouldn't kill you. You make me…"

It wasn't what I meant to say, in fact, it's mostly jumbled garbage thanks to the serum, but this is where my mind goes blank.

I step towards her, reaching out and grabbing her by the back of her hair. She tenses up immediately, but I only pull her closer, my fingers digging into her soft hair until she's inches away from my face. I lean even closer, until my forehead touches hers.

"Tell me why you're here. What did you do?"

"Eric, you need to lie down," she tells me, and her nose touches mine as she tries to move away.

And then, the serum hits me all at once.

I feel delightfully drunk, completely and blissfully wasted now. The room spins a bit, and the air grows warm as I hold her in place, suddenly imaging all the delightful things I could do to her if we could just fucking leave. The things I could show her. I could take her out of here, back to Dauntless with me. She could stay in my apartment, lie beneath the sheets of my bed, her skin pressed against mine during the loneliest of nights, as she groans—

"Eric, what are you doing?"

It's the last thing I hear as I lose my balance, besides the yelp from Violet as she crashes down to the floor with me, pinned against the doorframe beneath my weight.

"Violet," I mutter, as my world darkens, and I'm out before she can utter another word.


	10. Damage Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric tries to recover from taking Violet down with him while Pete grills him for information. A new patient causes trouble for Violet and Eric.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much to BK2U for editing this chapter for me! I hope everyone has a lovely Thanksgiving!

Everyone stares.

The room is silent as I sit there, chewing down the disgusting-tasting cereal without much enthusiasm. The dining hall is overly warm, like someone has turned the heat on too high and forgotten about it, and it doesn't help that the place is packed. It has the sickening feeling of Dauntless with its levels of loudness and rowdiness, but instead of members in black, it's full of mental patients in orange clothing.

"He, uh…yeah, he took her down with him."

I close my eyes briefly at the words spoken from somewhere in the room, forcing myself to ignore them. It's unusual for me, but I can't bring myself to look up and find the person talking. Normally, I'd be primed to find the asshole and leave enough bruises that they wouldn't ever want to so much as think my name, but this is different. I'm not on top here, and I am slowly becoming the sideshow in this freak-filled circus. I know that if I look up, I'll see a room full of faces, all watching me, desperate for me to explain what happened in painstaking detail.

All they'd heard were a few minor details, but the most coherent and conscious patients would want to know how I'd wound up on top of Violet in the doorway of my bedroom. They'd want to know just how Kenan had helped her up, how the two of them had helped sort of shove me towards my bed, how she'd sat beside me, her fingers still on mine, as she told me she'd be back soon, and how she'd asked Kenan to make sure I hadn't hit my head.

I only knew all that because Kenan had told me, and it had left me humiliated.

And naturally, due to the location and the people who are in here with me, it hasn't gone unnoticed. Turns out, passing out in the hallway created quite the commotion, and the crowd stayed until Kenan shooed them away.

Today started off with a whisper from Aidy, really more of a loud announcement, that I'd been in the process of taking Violet to bed with me — that I'd been in the middle of kissing her when someone, probably Bella, leapt out of nowhere and drugged me. Shoved a needle right in my neck, and pumped me full of purposeful poison that made me pass out before I could fight her off. I think she was trying to save face for me, but the last thing on Earth that would make me feel better would be hearing that little story.

I couldn't even muster up an ounce of gratitude that she was looking out for me, trying to make the situation better than it was. The reality of it was that I'd let them get to me, and I was determined not to let it happen again. I should have kept myself in control of the situation, taking great pains to ignore the taunting of a girl who had convinced herself she was married to a mop.

I should have stayed away from Violet, taking the careful steps to also ignore her, along with anyone else who felt like they could get to know me. I should have trusted no one, not even those who I had thought were safe simply because of where we were.

There were a lot of things I should have done, but I couldn't fix any of them now.

After enduring the hallway fiasco, I'd willingly slept through the afternoon, then the night, only waking up when Kenan announced I should brush my teeth. I'd woken up again in the late morning to Bobby singing some terrible, made-up song about a girl stealing a mattress, and I'd forced myself to get out of bed.

It was then that I discovered that even after the large dose of peace serum I'd ingested, my brain felt strangely fine. That in itself was a sobering side effect of having taken it multiple times now. It was unfortunate; it didn't seem to matter the dose, it just seemed that the more it was injected into my system, the more I got used to it. I was no longer reacting violently, nor having a major hangover from it because my system was adapting to it.

Which blew for more reasons than one, though maybe it could come in handy.

I tried not to focus on it. I took a quick shower, allowing myself to wash away the shit storm from yesterday, and I changed into some of the clothes Max had sent.

It felt good to dress like myself. A black shirt and black lounge pants might not have been anything spectacular, but the dark colors felt good in a way I hadn't expected. I combed my hair, brushed my teeth, bummed a cigarette from Pete, and snarled at Shelley to sign me out to smoke. She didn't bat an eye, though I'd been told that I would technically be starting over again on orange. I shouldn't have any privileges, but Shelley didn't seem to care.

She let me outside without question, but with a wink. I stayed there, enjoying myself wholeheartedly until the last possible second, only leaving when I was dragged back inside by a hyperactive Pete. He'd bounced in out of nowhere, his eyes red and his cheeks flushed, and he talked my ear off on the walk over. He asked a million questions about where I got my shirt, then changed to the subject to what had happened in the hallway; my stony silence didn't seem to bother him. I knew he was trying to be amicable, but it wasn't working. He finally left me to sit on my own after I shoved him away, refusing to speak a word to anyone.

Which is where I am at now: doing my best to memorize the pattern of my cornflakes as my heart rate feels like it's speeding up with each passing second.

 

 

"How many partners did you have in Dauntless? Do you consider yourself someone who used your sexual behaviors as an outlet for your stress?"

Dr. Erin seems to be extra inquisitive today, perhaps spurred on by the ward's most romantic hallway tryst ever to occur in this mental hospital. She hasn't said Violet's name yet, but I know what's coming. Half of me wants to punch her in the face and tell her if she wants to know all the details, she should cut the bullshit and just ask. We're far past asking vague bullshit questions that she knows I'm not going to answer.

"How long is this going to take?"

I ask my question in a bored tone while looking at the clock, ignoring her persistent questions. I know I'm stuck in here for at least another half hour, and the thought makes me itchy. She'll eventually bring up Violet, but there's nothing impressive about the way I blacked out, nor is there anything at all romantic about the fact that I took the girl down with me because I lost consciousness. If I remember correctly, I was trying to get away from her, though my actions seemed to say otherwise. But Dr. Erin won't believe that for a second.

"Did you ever have multiple partners at one time?"

"I don't see how this is relevant to anything you've been assigned to ask me." I bark my answer at her, my hands pressing over my eyes as I lie there.

This therapy session was expected, of course. There was no way my actions towards Bella would go unnoticed. I could almost write their disciplinary plan for them. Drugs, then talking about my feelings, then more drugs if I refuse. Maybe they'll strap me to the bed this time, or if I'm really lucky, maybe they'll shock my brain until I can't see straight. I should feel smug that I know their routine by now, but it's a dismal thing to have picked up on.

I've been in this office for only a few minutes, but there is a deep weariness washing over me, one that wasn't there before. It makes me want to give up, to tell her anything she asks in hopes that she'll leave me alone, but I can't. I can't bring myself to be subjected to her prying into my head like that. She's already done that once, and I won't let her do it again.

Which means I am mostly at a dead standstill when it comes to this therapy session.

"Do you consider yourself attractive? Or better and more desirable than those in Dauntless?"

She keeps the questions coming, and I humor her by answering yes to all of them, some even before she's done asking. By the tenth question — did I ever sleep with anyone in the training classes, and did I find it unlikely for them to turn me down simply because of my position in Dauntless — she seemed to catch on that I wasn't actually listening.

"Will you listen to the questions, please? These are part of an important personality assessment test, but it's only accurate if you answer them honestly."

"I'm not a sociopath, if that's what you're hinting at here. I don't think I'm some godlike being. Superior, maybe. But have you seen the peons we choose to clean up the factionless bodies before returning to Dauntless? Or the guards who work the fence for weeks on end? They're mindless beings who take order after order and don't bother to question why. You'd be hard pressed to not think highly of yourself after spending some time with them."

"You have some tendencies that lead me to believe—"

"Stop talking. I have nothing else to say to you," I answer nastily, now totally fed up with her. But my words aren't a deterrent, at least not a very good one.

"Eric, I'm not the enemy here. All I'm asking for are some answers so I can fill out your required paperwork. I don't think you're a full-on sociopath. I think you're just used to being in control, and this is pissing you off because for once you aren't." She sets her pen down, and crosses her arms over her chest. "But you don't have to work against us, you know. I get that you might not want to tell your life story. I hate to break it to you, but you have to be willing to try if you want out of here. Opening up won't kill you, and neither will letting someone else be in charge for a minute."

"Are you fucking serious?" I sit up suddenly, turning to stare at her. "That's what's gonna get me sprung from here? Telling you how many sexual partners I've had? You must lead boring lives here if that's what you need to hear about."

My words make her stop, her pen hovering above the paper.

"We deserve answers, Eric."

"What entitles you to hear a word out of my mouth? Why should I bother to answer a single one of your pointless questions?" I drop my head back and stare at the ceiling, wondering if it's old enough to collapse onto my face. "Do you think I believe any of this works?"

"Because it's mandatory for your survival in here. I know you don't like this place, but I also know you aren't willing to spend the next month not remembering a single thing. You need to show more progress than just announcing your name."

"I'm not willing to make an idiot out of myself because you think my talking about how I'm feeling today will change who I am or what I've done." I stare at her until she flinches. "Do you think I enjoy being dragged from class to class because someone said I should attend them? Or that I believe they'll help me? Do you think they'll actually help me? Because so far, your methods are bullshit, and you know it. You know there's something wrong with this place, and no matter how many art projects you slap on the walls, you can't cover it up completely."

She sighs, averting her stare.

"I will say that it's true that some of our methods are not as efficient as a serum that might wipe your mind. You and I both know the weight of deciding who should be injected without consent can be draining. But you need to face your demons." Her words are meant to placate me, and my blood boils as the urge to strangle her becomes overwhelming.

"Fuck off. You don't know anything about my work. But I do know that I don't need any of you. I don't need to be cured. There's nothing wrong me. I never did anything but my job, and you're stupid if you think otherwise."

"Did your job involve taking orders from someone else? Someone above you?" Dr. Erin stares back.

"I had direct orders for everything I did," I snap. "You think I made those decisions on my own, just for fun? I may have been in the position where I had a faction to lead, but my own life was at stake as well. Everything I did was to protect myself. You'd do the same if you were in my shoes."

"So, you're telling me that it is possible for you to take orders?"

"I hope you choke on your lunch and die," I tell her calmly, and Dr. Erin smiles.

"Do you resent the work you did? Did you ever stop and think that maybe you were killing people who didn't deserve to die? Or did you agree with the orders?"

I blink.

"What difference does it make? My orders came from Jeanine. Did you ever think about that? The very same woman who put me in here. So, I did what I was told. And you can bet your ass that if it wasn't me, it would have been someone else."

"Was that frustrating for you?" I notice Dr. Erin hasn't written a single thing down, but she is listening intently. "That she sent you on this manhunt, and you dutifully went along with it? You seem like a smart man. You had to have agreed with her on some level. Did you ever think that what she asked of you might be wrong? That maybe you were wrong for going along with it?"

"What exactly are you getting at? You know nothing about her work or what I did, nor the reasons for it."

"Tell me, Eric, if someone doesn't fit into the system, where should they go?"

"The fuck if I know, nor do I care," I spit, and she shakes her head.

"Are you Divergent? Your test results showed very strongly that you were an ideal fit with Erudite, yet you chose—"

"Fuck off."

"You already said that." Dr. Erin adjusts her glasses. "Why did you pick Dauntless?"

"I don't owe you that explanation," I sneer. "And I'm done for the day. I'm leaving."

"That's fine. I'm proud of you for talking today."

I freeze, my palms flat on either side of me.

"What?"

"Thank you for talking today. I hope this leaves you feeling a bit better than our last session. Sometimes venting can help alleviate feelings that have been building up for a long time." Dr. Erin finally scrawls a few notes down and I can't move. "Your frustration can offer some valuable insight to what you've been going through. I'm granting you the rest of the day off to process what you just told me. I'll excuse you from your one-on-one with Dr. Branger this afternoon. Enjoy your day."

The nerve of this bitch.

I have to force myself to stand, my glare stuck right on her notepad. I try to ignore the rage I feel, the sharp and stabbing ache to bash her head against the desk until her ears bleed, when I watch her very neatly write the words on her little notepad that might end her life.

_Fear of Rejection._

 

 

I skip lunch.

I hightail it out of Dr. Erin's office and head straight to my room. I flop down onto the too-small bed, and I close my eyes tightly, wishing for something — anything — to get me out of here. A bomb to go off. A riot. A fire. Someone to fall face first down the stairs. I need a distraction, something to get their attention off me. There is something wrong here, absurdly wrong, past the point of them believing their methods actually work.

But nothing happens.

I end up lying here, lost in my own garbage thoughts, until eventually I fall asleep out of sheer boredom. I dream of myself eating lunch in my office alone, day after day, like a dismal highlight reel of my life that just won't stop.

 

 

I wake up to Shelley's hand on my leg.

At first, I think maybe I am dreaming, or that maybe I've been hypnotized again. But Shelley's hand is very real, her palm flat against my inner thigh as she inches higher and higher, patiently waiting for me to wake up.

"What are you doing?"

I bark at her as I sit up, sleepily swatting at her hand. I take careful notice of her, the way her white uniform shirt is unbuttoned a bit lower than before, and her short, white shirt seems to have crept up a few inches. She watches me, too, digging her nails in a bit and scraping slightly. The sensation isn't doing what she's hoping it will; I'm certainly not turned on, and in fact, the feeling makes my skin crawl, especially when she keeps going.

"I won't tell anyone," she promises, moving closer to me. "Anyway, you sort of owe me. I let you go outside and I shouldn't have. So, I know you'll keep quiet."

I try hard not to slap her in the face. She smiles again, scooting herself closer until her fingers reach the edge of my boxers. I quickly realize I have two options: let her continue on and punch her in the face, or stop this now and tell her to fuck off and never touch me again.

"Oh, you want me to be quiet? If I don't, will something bad happen to you?" My lips curl up into a sneer and I can see the exact moment her bravery falters a bit.

"You…I should have told you that you couldn't go outside to smoke. You didn't have any..."

"Is this something you do on the regular?" I lean into her, fighting the urge to recoil at the sterile smell of astringent and hopeless wafting from her. "Take advantage of sleeping patients?"

"I'm not taking advantage of you. You want this. I can tell." She licks her lips, and her next words waver. "I've seen the way you look at me."

"Oh, Shelley," I smile, this time wide enough that she leans back in towards me. Lulled by my sudden change of tone, her eyes close for a second as she hovers over me, and I wait until her face is inches from mine before I knee her in the stomach as hard as I can from this awkward position. "Stupid, fucking Shelley. Don't ever touch me again."

Her yelp is louder than expected, considering I know she's probably had the wind knocked out of her, and she crumples to the ground as I stand up.

"It's funny. I was feeling strangely sorry for myself, but now I just feel sorry for you," I hiss, stepping over her and heading towards the door. I feel disgusted by her, and it's hard to resist the urge to remedy this right here and now. I'd like to take my fingers and tighten them around her throat, but the last thing I need is a reason for them to pay more attention to me.

So instead, I step out my door, and when I spy Kenan a few steps away, I wave him over. I simply ask him to remove Shelley from my room, and it's all he needs to hear before his expression changes to reflect complete and utter annoyance.

"God damn it. Does this bitch know the amount of paperwork she just caused me? I don't have time to be filling out fifty fucking pages on inappropriate nurse behavior. You aren't the first patient with this complaint, if that makes you feel any better. I was just praying she'd knock it off. She's been warned a few times," he offers up, his face wrinkling in disgust.

His words heighten my annoyance: how could anyone possibly think they could take advantage of me? But I figure there's someone out there watching over policy and procedure, and she will be no exception. A handsy nurse might get away with it with a willing participant, but not with me. The last thing I want is her all over me, and if I have to be reminded of the order of this place, so does Shelley.

"I'll catch you later. Tell Dr. Erin to fuck off for me." I pat him on the shoulder as I walk away, feeling an odd sense of frustration as I try to forget the feeling of Shelley's hand anywhere near my dick.

 

 

"So, you uh…you like her? You think she's pretty cool, huh? I mean, I guess she is. If you're into quiet chicks who you can't hear when they speak." Pete aims his gun at the target while taking a quick drag of his cigarette. "But she's pretty nice, and she's never tried to kill me like you did."

I debate throwing my gun at his face, but I give him a free pass this time. Pete had been nice enough to come find me before I wasted my entire day doing nothing but staring at the walls. He'd found me leaving the nursing station, downing a multitude of placebos and preparing for an afternoon of blankness. I'm sure I looked unimpressed when he told me there was a game room, but really, anything would be better than thinking about Violet and therapy. So I'd shrugged and followed him down the stairs to a floor marked BASEMENT, and then through a dark, beat-up door.

The game room wasn't exactly what I was imagining, but then again, this entire place was something out of my nightmares. It was fitting that it was barely lit, clearly abandoned, and filled with what I assumed where ancient arcade games from long ago.

The room smelled musty and stale, but I sort of liked it. It reminded me of being deep beneath the Earth, far away from here. The walls had once sported brightly colored wallpaper, something with clowns and trees, but the years of neglect had left them wilting and yellowed. The clown's faces were warped, giving them a sort of demonic appearance, and I wonder who picked it out or decided to just leave it there.

One wall held what I can only guess were once-popular games. I couldn't imagine that people ever found them fun, but there were a dozen of them, dusty and broken-looking, yet neatly lined up: skee-ball; a basketball hoop for two players; a few ancient and cracked consoles at which you stood, peered down at a screen, and moved a joystick; and several machines on the end that looked newer. Those had guns that linked up with the large machines, and Pete had quickly pulled up an array of games to choose from. I snorted when he selected the city landscape, and the view of large, dark buildings rose up before us. It looked like the city I'd once prowled, especially the dark corner that the game had us start in.

"Ready, player one," Pete cheerfully announced, and I smirked at his enthusiasm.

For the next fifteen minutes, we shot at things in silence.

The feeling was cathartic. My days in this shit hole fell away as I easily beat him time and time again, my points racking up much faster than his, try as he might to keep up with me. My aim was far superior to his, though he wasn't half bad. I wouldn't have picked him first to be on my team, but he wasn't as awful as some of the initiates had been.

Until he opened his mouth.

"You can tell me if you like her. I won't say a word." He takes another drag from his cigarette, then tosses it to the side, shooting one-handed. "Bobby might, but I won't."

"What are we, in fourth grade? Do you like her?" I mock him as I aim the gun upwards, pulling the trigger and watching with great satisfaction as the boxes blew up.

"You certainly hang out with her a lot, considering you don't like her." Pete tries the same shot, unsuccessfully hitting the side of the boxes instead of the middle. "And she talks to you. I've never seen her willing speak to anyone. Maybe because you both like books."

"Clearly, we should run away and get married for that reason alone," I answer dryly, rapidly losing my patience. "Have you forgotten we're in a mental institution. It's not like I've actively sought her out. There are only so many places one can go here. What makes you think that I—"

"Hey dude, you don't have to be defensive to me. Lots of guys here like her. She's one of the normal ones. She doesn't scream all night long, and she showers on a regular basis. She just doesn't talk to anyone. Never seems like she's happy."

"Are you happy?" I ask him, tearing my stare away from the guy running at me on the screen. I shoot him twice without looking, and the game dings cheerfully, announcing his death. "You're happy here, in this place?"

"Fuck no, you know that. I just meant…like everyone else tries to be happy, but Violet can't. She just sits there and reads."

I turn back to the game, and my screen changes to a different setting. The computer voice tells me to get ready, and I suck the air into my lungs when the screen is suddenly filled with bugs. All kinds of bugs, big and small, crawling everywhere. It gives me the suffocating feeling of claustrophobia, and I try to ignore the imaginary sensation of them on my skin.

"The smaller the bug, the more points you get," Pete needlessly tells me, and he forgets about his own game and begins shooting at my screen. "But uh, you know what I mean. You guys are sort of friendly. Like actual friends. Like you and me are friends, but I wouldn't visit you in your room at night and try to put you to bed. You know what I mean?"

"Fuck off. I'm biding my time here. Nothing more."

"I don't believe you," he bravely challenges me, shooting something that resembles a dragonfly. "When you leave, she's gonna be fucked. Mentally. You will, too. Just wait."

I turn to stare at him, and this time, the game screeches that I've just obtained the highest score in this machine's sad existence.

"How on Earth would you know that?" I ask, feeling a bit unsteady. "You can't possibly think that I'd be affected by anyone in this place. Everyone here is insane."

"Hey, enter your initials there so everyone knows you got the high score. And what's wrong with being a little insane? You're in here with all of us, you know."

"I'm here by mistake," I bark, and he takes a step away from me, holding up the plastic gun in surrender. "I'm only here because they're covering up—"

"You sure that you aren't just paranoid? That maybe you are a little crazy? It's not a bad thing, you know. We're all mad here, but it's okay."

He quirks an eyebrow at me, and my patience for him runs out.

"I'm sure."

I slam the gun down and leave without another word, my head rattling around with thoughts that don't belong in there.

 

 

"He can't…he can't….he just can't sit there. He needs to move. Make him move. Make him move. Make him move, please."

Violet's words are spoken in a hysterical chant. It's the first time I've seen her since passing out, and she look strangely wild. Her eyes are wide and wet, her cheeks are red, and her hands are clasped together. She's nearly inconsolable, turning to cling to Aidy as she stares at the blonde man sitting on the couch.

"Aidy, make him move!"

I arrived in the reading room with a headache and a desire for silence. It was ironic that it was easier to find here than in Dauntless, but I shouldn't have been surprised to discover the silence was interrupted by the shrieking of mental patients.

I just never expected it to be from Violet.

"What's going on?" I bark at the both of them, the irritation clearly discernible in my voice. Violet nearly jumps out of her skin.

"You need… Eric, you need to make him MOVE."

Her voice reaches a volume I've never heard before, and she looks manic now. She stares up at me, a look of frustration sweeping across her face when I look past them and at the couch.

There sits a man with a crooked nose — one that must have been broken a few times — and a mess of blonde hair. He's tall and barefoot, wearing the same intake clothing I'd initially worn, except his shirt has long sleeves, and he holds both hands up at me.

"Wow, just…hi, wow. Really, I have no idea why she's so upset. They told me to come in here and wait for a nurse to bring me to a room. I sat down, and looney toons here lost her mind. Starting yelling at me to move. There are plenty of other seats for her to sit in."

He motions at Violet, and I feel the same burst of irritation that I would whenever an initiate opened up their mouth.

"What did you call her?" I take a step closer to him, noticing his nose is really fucked up, and I wonder who the lucky person was that bashed it to the side. "And you'll need to move. That's where she sits. Not you."

"Hi, again, look I'm not trying to make enemies. I'm Owen. And I have to say, I'm a little surprised by all this hostility. Wow, just wow. They never said there was assigned seating in here." He crosses his arms over his chest and wags his bare foot at me. "Hey, wait, are you from Dauntless? That why you got that maze of lines all over your arms? You let people try their luck on it when you're bored?"

I stare at him, wondering just how much longer he's going to keep talking. "Move. Before I move you."

"Wow, whoa, man. Why are you making this personal? This isn't between you and me."

"The rules have changed," I tell him, and my arm brushes against Violet as I step right in front of him. "Get the fuck out of this seat, and don't ever sit here again."

"Dude, do it before he strangles you." Pete lazily walks to take the seat across from him. He's arrived from the game room, strolling in like he owns the place. "He tried to kill me his first day here. They stopped him, but he'll probably succeed with you."

"Wow, you're serious?" Owen finally moves to stand up and he puts his hands on his hips. "I've never met a more unwelcoming group of people in my life. You all seem incredibly angry. Wow."

"Move," Violet whispers, returning to the same girl I first met when I came here.

Aidy glares at Owen, touching Violet's hair and gently nudging her forward when he stands up. "You're dead to us. Enjoy eating with Bella."

"Who is Bella?" Owen looks at me like we're all mad. I glare at him, though really, he is absolutely no threat. I can tell he'd be easy to take down, just like he was easy to get to move. He steps to the side of me, squeezing past Violet and Aidy, and flops down onto the most beat-up chair in the place. "Why are you all listening to him? Is he your leader or something? Are he and I gonna have a problem here?"

He's staring at me with a curious look on his face, especially when I sit down in the exact spot he was sitting. I reach out and grasp Violet's wrist. I roughly yank her towards me, and she easily collapses into the same seat in which we've been sitting together for a while now. I can feel her pressing herself against me, but not so much that she's cowering behind me.

"Trust me, you're hardly a problem."

"She asked you to move like six times, Blondie," Aidy informs him, cocking her head to the side. "She even said 'please,' which is more than you're gonna get from anyone else."

Violet's fingers accidentally touch the side of my leg, and I flash back to Shelley's vile touch. This is different; Violet's merely sitting beside me, and her touch is so light that it's almost not there. I lean back a bit, surprised that I find myself compelled to smash Owen's face in for her personal benefit.

"Wow, well…you know, I know everyone here's a bit crazy. But this is nuts."

"Stop saying 'wow.' " I glare at him and I set my hand down beside me. Violet leans in so her head is touching my shoulder and she's looking down at the couch. It should feel wrong, it should horrify me that someone would want to be this close to me, that they would seek any form of comfort from me. I'm the last person that should calm her down, yet her she is, drawing her knees up defensively. "You sound like a moron."

"Okay, wow, I'm out. I'll find the nurse myself. Screw you all. Especially you, you crazy bitch. I thought you looked familiar, and I was right. I was wondering what they did with you."

What happens next is a blur.

Violet reacts violently, a flash of dark hair as she leaps off the couch and onto Owen. No one moves, not even when she takes him down, Owen falling to the ground with a thud as one of them hits their head on the coffee table.

I blink.

I flash back to initiation, watching the initiates fight each other frantically and sloppily. For a moment, Violet seems victorious. She grasps him by his face, one leg on each side of him, as she pulls one hand back to punch him. I watch in fascination as she struggles, determination across her face.

It only lasts for a fleeting moment. He manages to knock her off of him, pinning her to the ground and wrapping his hands around her throat. I find myself standing up, my fists clenching as she claws at him, hitting him in the side of the head and trying to get away. In a normal setting, perhaps she might have stood a fighting chance. Smaller initiates often had the advantage of being faster, and it was easier for them to scramble away. But Violet has clearly been here for years, not training on defense tactics or being scored on them. She hasn't spent weeks training to fight for her life or block blows.

It shows.

"STOP IT!"

Aidy is shrieking, flailing her arms uselessly and simply making noise rather than actually helping. Everyone in the room is watching in horror, especially when Owen seems to realize what he's doing. He stops for a second, then chokes when my hands clasp around his windpipe.

"Fuck off," I hiss at him, throwing him to the side easily. He bounces right back up, his rage returning. He lunges for me, trying to headbutt me, as though I haven't watched countless opponents do the exact same thing. I make sure he misses, smashing his face into the couch. I reach down to pull Violet up, and I stop when I feel the stabbing prick of a needle in my arm. I turn my head to the side, finding the panicked stare of an orderly. He backs away almost instantly at my glare, realizing his mistake.

"Wrong guy," I announce.

I glance at my bicep, then reach over and pull the syringe from my arm. He hasn't injected much, but instead sort of scratched me in an attempt to sedate me. I turn to him with a smile, and with a little too much force, I stab it into his own arm. "I'm the one trying to help here."

I make sure my voice sounds polite, but it goes groggy when I realize I've been injected with more than I thought. The room blurs a bit as I stand there, watching Aidy's face melt away, and my knees give out as I stumble to the ground. I see Violet's face again, her dark eyes closing as I try to steady myself to stand upright.

"You have no idea what you just did!" Owen yells, though his own voice is slurred. I catch sight of his freshly-bandaged wrists peeking out from beneath his sleeves as he throws one pathetic, depressed look at us all. I'm sure his own vision is narrowing, the room growing dark and swaying, and I see his gaze skirt over Violet, her whole body turned towards me, and I can recognize the look on his face.

The ugly, bitter expression of fear, seeping up through his skin, even at the height of the drug.

For the first time in a long time, longer than I can remember, I feel triumphant before my eyes eventually close.


	11. Second Floor, to the Left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violet deals with the fallout from her outburst while Eric discovers a whole new floor of patients that are all too familiar to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for BK2U for editing this chapter for me!   
> Major thanks to everyone who's been reading and following along :)

I find him barely breathing.

His brown hair is matted with blood, and his right eye is swollen shut. The other one opens from time to time, blinking slowly and closing when it can't focus on anything. His hands are bloodied and raw, as though he'd fought hard to avoid winding up here. When he turns slightly, I realize his neck is marked with bruises and a deep cut that looks fresher than those on his hands, and his collar is caked with blood.

I stare at the man in front of me, the papers in my hand growing heavy.

 

 

Dr. Branger does not like Violet.

I learned this the day Owen arrived, hours after the madness in the reading room. By dinner, everything had quieted down. I'd awoken on the grimy floor, rubbing my arm and pushing myself upright. The room was nearly empty, except for a sleeping Aidy, a grumbling Bobby, and a scowling Pete. Pete was the first one to notice I was awake, and he offered me his hand, silently helping me up.

Once I was on my feet, he told me that what had followed was a shit show.

The blind rage that had overcome Violet seemed to affect every person in the room. It spread like a virus, causing patient after patient to lose it. There was no doubt that lingering traumas and disorders were triggered by her animalistic behavior and the fighting. Pete told me the orderlies did what they could, injecting patients as quickly as possible with a short-term paralytic that caused a brief unconsciousness. It was new, he explained, while rubbing his neck where they'd stabbed him. They'd started to use it in extreme situations, though it was hard to make sure it was injected properly. After they'd gotten to almost everyone, they'd then left us to sleep if off, except for Violet and Owen.

My stomach turned over sharply when he told me Violet hadn't been sedated entirely, but had been taken from the room.

I tried not to think about what they'd done to her, because there was no way it wouldn't be pinned on her. The quiet girl, the one who could barely make eye contact, lunging for a patient with a death glare and the intent to cause him physical harm wouldn't be overlooked.

So, I was shocked to see her walk back into the room moments after I was on my feet, her gaze downcast and her skin pale. She stumbled a bit, obviously drugged and hazy as she made her way to the couch, collapsing onto it with great effort.

"You okay?" I asked her, watching as she shook her head no.

She didn't say anything else.

She sat there for a good minute before drawing her knees up to her chest and resting her forehead on them. She stayed that way, wrapping her arms around her legs.

"Violet, what'd they give you?" Pete asked, taking the seat across from her. She flinched, but finally raised her head up.

"I don't know. It was different this time. Through an IV."

Pete looks at me, comically choosing this moment to gesture with his head, a silent command for me to do something. I'm not sure what he thinks I should be doing, but I finally walk over to her, slowly taking the seat beside her.

"Do you feel alright?"

I keep my voice even, remembering the time when I'd sat in a Dauntless infirmary while a woman had attempted to fix my teeth. I had gone in with one broken tooth, but I could clearly remember the overwhelmingly shitty feeling of wanting to flee every time she came closer to me. I'd tried to hold still while they made sure I had no permanent damage, but it was uncomfortable enough that it made my spine hurt. The woman had spoken briskly, reminding me that bravery and survival was worth more than a few knocked out teeth, and had grown impatient when I asked to leave.

I'd never gone back once she was done.

I wonder if Violet feels the same thing now, the creeping, crawling desire to just run, all while knowing you can't.

"No."

She sounds exactly like they want her to: drugged and sick. I stare at her, her skin pale and her eyes unfocused when she moves over a fraction of an inch towards me.

"My arm hurts where they put in the IV. I don't know what was in it. It felt…hot."

"Vi, you want anything? Water?" Aidy joins in, standing to the side, pursing her lips in disdain. The look on her face tells me she's seen this before. But before I can question either of them, my luck in this shit hole comes to an abrupt end.

Dr. Branger appears with a surprising grimace on her face, her eyes narrowing when they finally land on us. I can feel Violet's racing pulse and the shaky way she's breathing, both increasing at the very sight of her. Her body's response reminds me of the first time an initiate completes their simulation, their nerves fried and their mind whirling as they try to process what just happened.

I know why they're watching her. What happened and her reaction don't make sense; it was all too extreme, considering she rarely raises her voice. It seems highly unlikely that she'd lose it like this, and I can't figure out what was going on with her.

I'm not the only one who thinks that. Dr. Branger stops directly in front of us, taking a long look at the girl beside me, her gaze dripping with disapproval. There's something strange in the way her eyes flick to Violet's hands, her nails now digging into my skin. There is a tense moment of silence until Dr. Branger finally leans in, trying to coax her to follow her somewhere. I watched passively until Dr. Branger loses her cool and reaches for her in anger, eventually grabbing her by the hair until Violet yelps and scrambles off the couch. She stumbles, then moves to sit back down.

Dr. Branger's eyes narrow.

Violet's reaction wasn't normal, and it's clearly not what they want.

"Get up, Violet."

I shove myself in between them, standing up until I tower over Dr. Branger.

"Stop."

I say the word authoritatively, remembering Dr. Erin mocking my lack of control here, and it's like all the air has been sucked out of the room. She glares at me and smooths her skirt down.

"Eric, while I appreciate your help in the matter, this is not your business. She hasn't been taking her medication. She's becoming violent and unreasonable." She pauses, stretching out her neck to the side. "She needs to be treated appropriately for causing such a disturbance. The first step is that she needs to be reevaluated."

"No," Violet pleads. "No, not that."

"I don't think you've ever really seen violent and unreasonable." I widen my stance, and I force myself to speak slowly. "Defending yourself is not unreasonable. Ever stood in the middle of a factionless riot while they senselessly tried to harm anything in their path? Ever had to try to talk one down from killing their friend just to make a point? That's unreasonable. What happened in here was not unreasonable."

Dr. Branger stays silent, inhaling sharply. I flash back to my talk with the doctor, and I wonder how I ever missed the similarities between her and Jeanine before.

"You'd do well to mind your own business. This has nothing to do with that," Dr. Branger retorts. "Violet is clearly exhibiting signs of drug dependency withdrawal. There is proper treatment for that, and it's not sitting next to you."

I smirk at her, because there is no way Violet is withdrawing from anything except maybe the illusion that this place could ever help her.

"She's..."

"I'm fine," Violet interrupts, surprising the both of us. "Dr. Branger, I just…Owen wouldn't move and I panicked. I wanted to sit there and he wouldn't leave. I always sit here. It wasn't right of him, and he finally left. I'm sorry I jumped on him. I just needed him to move."

Her defense makes my teeth hurt.

"The nurses said they have reason to believe that you haven't been taking what's been prescribed to you. Leona thought she saw you spit something out last night," Dr. Branger continues undeterred, and I wonder if she conducts all her business out in the open like this. "Violet, it's important that you take your meds. We don't want any ideas running through your mind."

Her words hit a nerve with me and I stare at her.

"You prefer her to not think at all?" I ask, feigning innocence.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." Dr. Branger presses her lips together. "Again, this is none of your business and I need you to step away."

"Nah, I'm good right here."

"Do you wish to be sedated again tonight? Have you not had enough of that for today?" She grits her teeth together, and I spy Owen in the doorway, watching intently. To his credit, he looks apologetic, though that means absolutely nothing to me. In fact, in my book, he's more than dead.

"Dr. Branger, hey, you know, can you just take me to my room…" he calls out, but she doesn't move.

"Leave her alone. She's taking the medication. Did you miss the part where he tried to stop her from breathing?" I close the gap between Dr. Branger and me, looking down at her until she averts her stare.

"Eric, you know nothing about her. I'm telling you—"

"Leave. I said she's taking the meds. There's nothing more that needs to be addressed here," I inform her, and she shakes her head roughly.

"This isn't Dauntless, Mr. Coulter. You have no authority here..."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that. I'm sure I get some kind of patient survey when I leave here. I bet Jeanine would be interested to hear about my stay." I smile at her, sharp and dark, and I can see the exact moment that she relents under my totally baseless claim. I could very well be in here for ages, but Dr. Branger might believe my bluff.

Fortunately, she does.

She steps away, shaking her head. "Fine. I'll let you see for yourself. But I'm warning you, you'd better watch it. We'll see how well your next one-on-one goes."

"I look forward to it."

Violet's fingers touch mine, pulling my fingers out of the fists they've formed, and she tugs me back towards her as Dr. Branger turns to stalk over to Owen. He looks back over his shoulder, throwing one more long, pained glance at me, as though I'll be swayed by his sad expression.

"I'm pushing up your treatment for tomorrow, Mr. Coulter."

"Good," I snap, when she finally leaves, the door slamming shut behind her.

"Will you kill her?" Violet asks me, loud enough that Pete laughs.

He stops when I answer her, my voice firm and clear as I commit to memory the sight of Dr. Branger's face staring me down, the way she reached for Violet's hair, the way she felt it necessary to exude her full authority over this place by threatening everyone in it.

"Eric?" she asks again, her voice returning to normal.

I nod.

_"Not right now, but I will."_

 

"Wow, well, for starters, my name is Owen, and I'm an alcoholic. Oh wait, this is the wrong group for that. Okay, wow, none of you seem to be laughing. Tough crowd today."

Owen stands beside Dr. Erin, a wide smile plastered on his face as he rambles on at his forced audience. No one is really listening to him, not even Dr. Erin. She's staring in my direction, her eyes fixed on my bare feet propped up next to Violet's bare feet. Part of my punishment, the blistering burn for standing up for the one person who deserved it, was the loss of my shoes and all of my and Violet's privileges. I rolled my eyes, even when she told me I'd have to reattend art therapy, though it was refreshing that she realized that it was truly a punishment.

Her fingers hover above her keyboard, ready to type out a fevered report; I can tell she wants to do more, but something is stopping her.

For once, it makes me smile.

I'd trudged to the bathrooms to get ready for bed, heading to sleep so I wouldn't spend the night analyzing what had happened. Luck was on my side, for once; I was out before the guards made their rounds. The morning arrived far too quickly, and after a bland breakfast, I was ushered to group therapy where I discovered we were being forced to listen to Owen speak. I hadn't seen Violet since the reading room, but she walked in right behind me. She wordlessly took the seat next to me, her arm touching mine as she sat down, and once Owen stood up, we took his chair and decided to share it as a communal footstool.

As part of our punishment for failing to welcome Owen with open arms, we were treated to an early session of group therapy. Owen stood before the group the same way I had, forced to offer up the most intimate details of his life, except he was actually willing to talk. Through a rambling story of wows and okays, Owen told us his name, that he was new here, and that he was excited to learn about himself. His words were vomit-inducing, enough that even Bobby had wrinkled his nose.

"What's with this guy? No one cares about him," he muttered, slumping in the chair beside me. He shared the same group dislike of the new patient, mostly because of what had happened in the reading room. It warmed my cold, dead heart that he'd jumped on the bandwagon since Bobby was becoming less easily influenced.

"He's no one," I announce loudly, causing a few people to turn their slow, dull gazes in my direction.

We'd taken up the back row, leaving the front and middle sections to the patients who were too drugged to really participate. Aidy was sitting near the end, twirling her hair around and trying to count each individual strand, and Bella was sitting beside her, a put out expression on her face. She'd been disappointed to find the front rows already filled up, so her sniveling had to be done from afar.

"Wow, yeah, thanks, Eric. Thanks for that," Owen answers, crossing his arms over his chest. "You know, I didn't think you and I would have a problem. I was thinking we could move past what happened yesterday."

"Where do you think he'll be staying? Eric, isn't your room empty? Don't you need a roommate?" Aidy teases, giving up on her counting.

"You do have an extra bed," Aidy continues, and Violet looks up at me. I immediately notice that she looks far more at ease than yesterday. Her eyes look bright when she smiles, and I can't tell if she thinks Aidy is funny or not.

"Nah, I'm good. I'll suffocate him in his sleep if he tries to spend the night." I wink at Violet, smirking when Aidy snorts.

"Eric, would you like to share your plans for murder with the rest of the group or just Violet?" Dr. Erin asks. She's still watching us, having overheard our conversation with her supersonic hearing, and I roll my eyes.

"Just with Violet," I answer, my tone dripping with boredom.

"Rude. You could at least include me," Aidy announces, waking up a sleeping Pete. "You can't plan a murder two seats away and think I don't want to hear about it."

"Wait, what did I miss? Who's getting murdered? The new guy?" Pete sits up a little straighter, rubbing his eyes and turning towards Violet. "Hey, does that make you and Eric official? Murderous boyfriend is what does it for you, huh? Forget walks under the moonlight and flowers. You'll settle for the strangler."

"Stop it, Pete," Violet whispers, but I can't help but notice as she squirms beside me. "It's not like that. I was wrong to go after Owen, even if he deserved it."

Her words sound parroted but hollow. I can tell she doesn't really believe them, and she's repeating them for Dr. Erin's sake. They've probably been programmed into her brain, burned there until she could say them without thinking.

"Wow, are you for real going to let him kill me? No one is concerned that guy over there is plotting my death?" Owen puts his hands on his hips, his blonde hair bouncing as he jerks his head towards Dr. Erin. "You're not at all worried about this?"

"Didn't you try to kill Violet yesterday?" Dr. Erin questions him, and Owen shrugs and looks directly at Violet.

"It was self-defense, wouldn't you say? I wasn't expecting that from her. But, uh, the truth comes out when we least expect it. "

"Sure. Violet is very threatening. And you aren't in his room. Eric is not allowed to have a roommate," Dr. Erin answers dryly, and I can tell she's trying not to smile. "You'll get your permanent roommate assignment after your clinical assessment. And I can promise you, no one will murder you in your sleep."

"That's what the last guy said," Bobby mutters, and everyone turns to look at him.

"What last guy?" Aidy asks, her interest clearly piqued now.

"That's right. You don't even know him because he was murdered." Bobby sings the last part, drawing it out for all to hear.

"That never even happened," Aidy tells him, and I decide I've had enough of this show for today.

"As entertaining as this is, I'm out." I stand up, stretching and nearly smacking Violet in the head. "Thanks for the informative session. Owen, stay the fuck out of my way, or I won't show as much restraint next time."

"Eric, sit down. This class isn't optional," Dr. Erin reminds me, but I shake my head.

"Migraine. I'm headed to the nurse so I can take something before it gets bad and I throw up in here. I don't think you'd want to clean that up." I wink at her as I step over Bobby, not bothering to wait for a response from Dr. Erin. I strut out of the room, letting the door slam shut behind me. I can hear the class talking, a few people jokingly retching as Dr. Erin struggles to regain control of the class. I stand there for a full minute with my hands behind my head, staring at the blinking lights and wondering just exactly how Owen knows Violet.

 

 

"Take this, and come back if it doesn't go away. Are you seeing spots or feeling dizzy?"

The nurse watches as I swallow down what is nothing more than a mild painkiller. I don't really have a migraine, nor do I really need anything stronger to kill the dull ache behind my eyes. This nurse can tell, though at least she keeps quiet.

"No, I'll be fine."

"Good," she answers, scrawling down the medication on my chart. "Everything else is going well? You're fine with the other medications? You're taking them as prescribed, right?"

"Yes."

I resist from rolling my eyes. This nurse is nice enough, and I don't need to shit on her parade just because she believes the vitamins are working. The pills still do nothing, though I suppose there's always the chance that one day they'll kick in and actually drug me. But so far, they seem to be nothing, maybe some sort of uppers so that I'll want to trudge to my therapy sessions.

"Can I ask you something?" She puts her pen down and chews on her lip. This nurse isn't any older than Shelley, but I'm hoping she's much smarter. "Would you mind taking this down to the second floor? I'll give you the code to the door. You'll just need to take it to the reception desk and hand it off. They've been asking for these for the past two hours, but I have a few sedations that were called in and I have to go help with them. I wouldn't normally ask a patient to take them…but they're just files, and you're the only one who'll remember the code."

Obviously, she's not any smarter.

"Please? It'll give you the chance to take a nice walk."

"Can I have my shoes back? I don't want to walk down there barefoot. Germs and all." I raise my eyebrows at her, feigning horror at the very idea. She mulls it over a for a split second before she nods, leaving only to eventually return with my shoes.

"Thanks. And just like I said, they're expecting them. Don't mention this to anyone. I won't have backup for another hour, and you'll be doing me a huge favor."

She's really stupid. She should know better than to owe me a favor.

I smile, something fake and condescending, as I extend my hand out. The files are heavy and cold when she presses them into my hands, a nervous smile crossing her face.

"Thank you."

"No, thank you." I grin and leave before she can rethink her decision.

 

 

The doors to the second floor of the mental hospital are marked HIGH SECURITY.

I find it odd the way this place is laid out; it seems like a priority floor wouldn't be so easily accessible, but it is. I type in the code to open the doors — 8765 — and get a rush of satisfaction when they open up with a click.

I step through them and notice the immediate change in atmosphere.

My floor is certainly no cheerful place to be, but this floor is downright depressing. The air feels sparse, chilled to a cooler temperature that's biting and frigid. I walk past an oversized desk with no one sitting at it, waiting no more than a split second before I push through doors marked NO ENTRY. I take careful notice of a security camera in the corner, though it blinks in a pattern that tells me the battery is dying. Dauntless has plenty of cameras just like that, and plenty of dying ones, too. Initiates are made to feel like they are being watched twenty four hours a day, but there are too many cameras to really keep track of.

I wonder if the same is true for here.

The doors open up to a long hallway with rooms flanking each side. Unlike our floor, these doors are made of metal, and most are locked by a deadbolt from the outside, undoubtedly to keep the patients in. As I head down the dimly lit path, I listen to the sounds of beeping and a few exhausted-sounding machines. Something pricks at my neck when I round a corner, realizing they're breathing machines. Each one has the same rhythmic wheeze and groan as the machines expand and contract, breathing for the patient.

I frown, wondering why a mental institution is housing patients on respirators — especially so many of them — when Erudite hospitals usually oversee that level of medical care. I can't stand here and ponder the question any further, however; a distant noise reminds me that I'm on borrowed time and need to keep going.

I continue on through the grimy darkness, and I'm oddly tempted to call out a hello. I feel unwelcome here, like I'm stumbling upon a place that's darker than I could have imagined, but I keep walking, forcing myself forward.

After all, there might be something here that can help me.

I come to the end of a hallway with two options. I stand beneath a buzzing yellow light and I quickly debate left or right. I choose left, hoping my sense of direction will kick in and lead me to what I'm looking for. I suppose it does. When I come upon a sign that reads STAFF ONLY, the walls change to a green color. This wing of the floor is a bit brighter; I stalk past six rooms with curtains instead of doors, then past an empty nursing station, before I find the doors marked INTAKE.

"Bed nine."

The activity starts right in front of me as those doors burst open. Two large male nurses come through, dragging a man with them. He looks unconscious at best. He is pale, bleeding from his mouth and nose, and his wrist is bent at an odd angle with gaping, dried out wounds just above the bend. They waste no time in shoving him into one of the rooms, glancing curiously at me when they're done.

"You lost?" one asks, and I wave the files at him.

"I'm supposed to drop these off. I was sent down here by—"

"Doctor will be right back. Wait there. Don't go any further."

He points to the side, a few curtains down, and I nod wordlessly. Maybe it's the black clothing, or maybe he's enough of a dumbass that he thinks I work here, but he trusts me enough to wait on my own. He doesn't even wait to see if I listen. He heads back into the room, and I listen while they work on the patient, muttering all sorts of swear words as they try to stabilize him.

After a second of waiting, I grow bored.

I pace a few steps, stopping when I swear I hear something familiar.

It's a groan, the kind I've heard a million times from initiates who've just had the life pummeled out of them but who aren't entirely dead to the world yet.

I look both ways, making sure there's no one watching me, before I shove back the fifth curtain. The rail creaks as it slides open, and the fabric is heavier than I expected. It opens up to a dimly lit room, and I'm filled with an icky rush of surprise when my eyes adjust to the lighting.

There lies the very man I'd dragged to Jeanine a few weeks ago, half alive.

"Thank you for these."

The head doctor of this floor eyes me carefully, and he's someone I would have expected to see in Erudite. He's sharply dressed, though his white jacket has specks of blood on it, and he wears a thick pair of glasses that he probably doesn't need. Or maybe he does. Maybe all the years of low lighting has finally worn down his vision.

"And your name is…?" He stares pointedly, the same blunt impatience that I'm familiar with. He might as well be my own father.

"Eric."

I debated giving him a fake name, but I decided that if I want information from him, I need him to trust me. I can tell he doesn't like that I'm down here, but he doesn't press the issue and he doesn't seem bothered by it.

"Thank you, Eric. Tell them I understand the delay in getting these files, though I would appreciate a more prompt response next time."

I shrug. "Of course. It's been….chaos up there. New patients, old patients rebelling. I'm sure you're familiar with it."

The doctor holds my stare, and I swear I can see the him trying to figure out just what I'm doing here.

"Can I ask you something?" I ask quickly, forcing myself to smile politely. I don't want to give him a second longer to think about it. I'm still dressed in dark clothes that don't look all that typical of a mental patient, and I look far more put together than some of the patients upstairs. While I'd given up trying to force my hair into any sort of neat style, the current mess and beard weren't any different from the nurses working on the man a few rooms away.

After a second, his gaze falters; seemingly, I have passed his inspection.

"Dr. Branger bugging you to get on my ass again?" he asks, taking a pen out of his pocket. "Tell her to fuck off and stop sending her security staff down here. I told her I'd get her the reports on how the process was going once I had them. You can let her know that so far, all of these patients have reacted poorly. This floor isn't the best control, either. Jeanine's been sending them back in worse and worse shape. Nearly half of them have come in with lung issues that can't be fixed quickly, all from varying scenarios. Her emails aren't helpful at all. She's scattered with her logic. I can't fix things when I don't know everything she's doing."

"Sounds like a ton of fun," I tell him, and I cock my head to the side. "But Dr. Branger, she wanted to know more specifically about the guy over there. Fifth one down, she wanted his prognosis."

The doctor scrawls something, frowning at the pages.

"Fucking Christ, that one is the worst that's been brought in. Look, tell Dr. Branger that if I can keep him stabilized for a few days, I'll try to ready him for her. Between you and me, I don't know if he'll be ready. Whatever simulation they're going through is ripping them up. They're coming back weaker and weaker, both mentally and physically. He's still not entirely lucid, and I'm hesitant to think that he'll be able to repeat her process."

"Would she assimilate him on one of the other floors?"

The doctor looks up at me, and for a split second I think that I've said the wrong thing. It's becoming clearer that these patients are the survivors from Jeanine, her experimenting increasing at a much more rapid pace than it had been.

"I'd recommend it. That one failed the simulation miserably. He doesn't show a high percentage of Divergence, not nearly as high as she likes. She specifically asked for him back, but hey, if he's not all there, there's no point. Might as well throw him to Dr. Branger and see if she can reprogram him or if he's a lost cause. She's always on the lookout for new patients. She's almost as bad as Jeanine."

"I can see that." I nod my head, leaning back against the wall. "Blank slate's the way to go. He'll be nothing but a mindless drone. Just the way she likes them."

The doctor nods before handing the folders back to me.

"Take this back with you. Dr. Branger can see him tomorrow if she'd like. She can see if he's a good fit for her program." He pauses. "Ask her to send me her thoughts on the selection process. That guy she wants would normally have been overlooked, but Jeanine's reaching now. At this rate, Dr. Branger will wind up with a wider group than her."

I smile.

"Thank you, Doctor. I'll let her know."

He waves me off, disappearing through the curtains to treat the newest patient before I even turn around.

I stare at curtain number five, the bloodied yellow fabric swaying in the air, wondering just how far Jeanine is willing to go to find her answers.

 

 

"Did you know there are Divergents here? They're patients on the second floor, in a high security area. Once Jeanine's done experimenting on them, she sends them here to recover and to have their minds wiped. She still hasn't found what she's looking for."

I hiss the words into the phone, pressing it closer to my ear.

Of course, this place has to have the shittiest phone I've ever seen, and the spottiest connection. Between the crackling and screeching, I can barely make out what Max is saying, let alone whether he's listening.

"Max!" I bark at him, and he sighs heavily.

"You're sure those patients came from Erudite?"

I glance at the nurse, the same one from earlier, who's now busy with a long line of patients waiting for their medication. I'd used my one phone call to call Max, and it hasn't been as monitored as I'd thought it would be. It was almost like no one gave a shit now, but they needed to keep up appearances. So, I'd been forced to sit beside her, dialing on an ancient rotary phone and praying he'd answer.

Luckily, he did.

"They said…" I pause, waiting until the nurse goes back to passing out pills. "Look, the doctor on the second floor mentioned her by name. He specifically said 'Jeanine'. That's she's been putting them through some sort of testing, and that the last one wasn't Divergent. That he failed miserably, and he couldn't rehabilitate him."

"Well, what did you think she was doing with them? You helped her, not me. I figured you knew what happened after you handed them over."

"I never asked," I snarl, wondering if he's really this dumb. "But doesn't this worry you that she's the one losing it? She promised us she'd only test on the true Divergents, and now she's changed the criteria to be any percentage of Divergence."

"You can't be sure of that." Max pauses, and I wonder if his phone is bugged. "Hey, is everything going okay there? You good?"

"Fantastic," I say sarcastically, wondering how on Earth he's made it this far in life. "I'm having a blast."

"Eric—"

"There's something else going on here. This doctor, the head one, she's doing something with the patients. The doctor I talked with told me she would have almost as big of a group to work on as Jeanine."

Max is silent.

"Did you hear me? They're testing out something, on patients that don't know what's going on and who are heavily drugged. One girl—"

Max interrupts me, his voice low and heavy. "It's a mental institution. Of course, the people don't know what's going on. Aside from you, that is."

"Max, they're…"

"Eric, look, Dauntless is currently a shit show, and you know how it goes. Initiation just started, and we have members missing. We have initiates missing. We're missing guns, security tapes, and a few of the guards have taken off. I can't oversee everything at all times. Tori's acting odd, and I can't find the guy that's replaced you."

"Yeah, well, there was always something off with her," I mutter, pressing the phone closer to my ear and ignoring the word 'replaced'. "You aren't worried about what they're doing here? That I could end up part of this experiment?"

"I can't get you out of there any faster. I'm trying, believe me. Jeanine isn't particularly willing to listen." Max sighs, and I can picture his weary expression perfectly.

"How is Jeanine? You enjoying working for her?"

Max is silent.

"Well?"

"She's pushing us to do more. Patrol more, search more. I will tell you that she thinks the Divergent population is growing out of control, though the test results aren't showing that. She wants a handle on it. Maybe she's running out of test subjects. That would explain the 'any percentage goes' situation you're telling me about."

"And people still think this was me?" I raise an eyebrow, though he can't see me.

"No," Max answers flatly. "No one thinks this was you. A few factions have noticed that she seems a little… off, but we're doing what we can to control it."

"Fantastic," I tell him, and I swear I can feel the blood vessels in my head constrict. "Any update on getting me the fuck out of here?"

"I put in the orders to have you pulled from there. I need the help. Jeanine said she'd look at it. She thinks…" he trails off, and I grip the phone tightly enough to break it. "She thinks you'll come out far more dedicated to her if you serve the whole sentence. I've explained that we need you back, so hopefully that will sway her decision to shorten the duration that you're there."

I stare at the nurse.

My mind is a mad blur of things, and his words are barely registering. I'm thinking of those patients I saw, hooked up to machines to keep them alive. I think of the doctor, his blasé attitude towards those he's been sent to repair. I think of the people I brought to Jeanine, bloodied and terrified, only to wind up here, in the very same place I'd been put to pretend this whole thing wasn't happening.

"Eric, she knows you're smart. When she needs you, she'll pull you out of there. She can't have you coming back furious and ready to out her. She needs time and success, and she's got neither right now."

Max's words float into my ear, his tone apologetic once again. I bite down on the inside of my cheek, wishing to God he was in front of me.

"Eric..."

I hang up the phone.

 

 

"Fuck it all."

I mutter the words as I stand in the shower, hot water rushing over me. I haven't bothered to ask for a razor, and I've decided to ignore my hair for now. I scrub everything clean, wash my face, and spend ten minutes beneath scalding water in an attempt to calm my mind.

This was starting to seem like far more than I'd anticipated. It was obvious that getting out of here wouldn't be enough; I'd need to make sure my name was cleared, and I'd need both Dr. Branger and Jeanine gone. I would be at the mercy of her bad decisions, and were she to think her little plan worked, I'd be right back here the next time things went south.

Or worse.

I could handle Dr. Branger, and I could handle Dr. Erin. I could handle Owen and his stupidity — hell, I could even handle sticking out this stay here. It was becoming increasingly clear that if I played their games, stayed off their radar, and kept to myself, I'd be fine. I could be quiet, I could exist without making waves, and I could get out mostly unscathed.

It was what happened outside these walls that would be the real challenge.

I turn the water off and close my eyes.

I could take matters into my own hands. I would have to take Jeanine out, and I would have to force Max's hand to make sure I never stepped foot in here again. I'd have to expose what I'd found, but I'd also have to decide if I have that right. I'd put these people here, and now I was walking amongst them. Max might laugh in my face were I to explain why I needed to do this.

But I had to.

It wouldn't be easy, but it wouldn't be impossible. It was what needed to happen.

With that decision, I wipe my face off with my hands and throw the shower curtain open. I stalk to the bench where I'd thrown my towel, ignoring the chill on my wet skin. I quickly rub it over my hair, then wrap it around my waist and turn around to the wide eyes of a dripping wet Violet.

"Um…I'm sorry, I was taking a shower and I didn't hear you come in."

She stands before me with her eyes glued to mine, occasionally venturing as far down as my collarbone. She has a towel wrapped around herself, but her hair is wet and shoved out of her face. She looks like I've caught her red-handed, her skin flushing the longer she stands there.

"No worries," I tell her, not really caring that she was there.

If she were an initiate, I'd have shoved her against the wall and held her in place until she learned her lesson, or worse. But I have no desire to do that to her. If anything, I want to know how long she watched me stand there naked, her stare clearly on me.

We both look at each other, her black eyes holding mine, and I have to work hard to keep them there. It would be easy to let them trail down over her exposed skin, to take in every curve that's now visible above the towel, to step closer to her and see what she does.

But I stay perfectly still, because she walks towards me.

"I never got to thank you for helping me with Owen." Her voice is even, and she takes another step until she's nearly touching my chest. "He… uh… I didn't mean to let him bug me. I thought I'd be okay."

She looks up, and for a second, it's like we aren't in an insane asylum. The air is warm and humid, and the dark tiles on the wall could be right out of the initiates' showers in Dauntless. I could picture her there, scrappily fighting her way through initiation, determined to hang on for dear life.

"Why did he bother you?" I ask.

She stays silent, perhaps gearing up to speak, and when she does, I realize Pete's words from the other day might be true.

"You and I sit there. I wanted…I wanted to talk to you, and I couldn't because he wasn't moving, and I knew you'd sit elsewhere. I just didn't plan on getting so…mad."

I find my lips quirking up when she says mad, because her reaction was far from mad.

"Violet." I bend my head down; the distance between us is nonexistent. "Tell me. Are you not taking the medication?"

There is nothing in the room except the pulsing of the blood through my veins and her heart beating. After what seems like ages, she shakes her head, her wet hair touching my cheek.

"I thought they were all placebos," I say, and one of my hands finds her arm. Her skin is warm and damp, and my fingers curl around it easily. "I thought they weren't really anything that…"

"Peace serum," she tells me, her head tilting up. "The pills are usually just vitamins, but they had me taking a high dose of peace serum daily. More than most people could handle. I've taken it for years. I just thought…I thought…I wanted to feel things again. I wanted to talk and be myself and not some zombie. You get so mad, so furious, but it's all real. The peace serum doesn't let me feel anything. Sometimes, when I sit by you, I do. I can feel it, how desperately you want out. And I want…that. I want to feel things again."

I nod at her, her black eyes still wide.

"So, I stopped drinking it all. I want to get out of here someday. I don't have anywhere to go, and I don't know how I'll do it, but I do know that I have to be stronger than what I am. I can't do that if I feel nothing."

"No, you can't."

Her hand tentatively reaches out to grasp my arm.

"Eric, I know him. I know Owen. He's—"

"The fuck are you two doing?"

I tear my gaze away from her, and I inwardly curse when I spot Kenan standing there, a very dad-like expression on his face.

"Okay, listen here, yoyos. I get that you two might have bonded, and I get that you're both fully capable of showering on your own, and I know you ain't gonna try any bullshit. But you're lucky that I walked in here and not someone else. Not too many are gonna be cool with you two standing here half-naked, talking about skipping your meds."

Violet's cheeks flush.

Kenan shrugs. "I don't care, though. I wouldn't take that shit, either. Peace serum is a gateway drug—"

"To what? What on Earth comes after peace serum?" I interrupt. Violet is still holding on to my arm, but she slowly lets go to readjust her towel. "We weren't doing anything. I didn't know she was in here. We were just talking about what happened with that dick."

"Man, that boy's got some major issues. Rest assured, he isn't on this floor. He's one up." Kenan points upwards, and Violet shivers.

"One up?" I ask, and she nods.

"He's high risk for self-harm. He has to stay where he's heavily monitored." She takes a step away from me, and I have the biting urge to pull her back towards me. "I should go get ready for bed. I can get dressed in my room. Goodnight, Kenan. Goodnight, Eric. "

"Goodnight, girl. Lock your door while you change."

Kenan waves her off, before he motions for me to follow along.

"Head to your room, too, Dauntless. Change there. I gotta make sure these showers are empty before lights out."

He pays zero attention once he dismisses us, heading towards the last stall to check for stragglers. I open the door to find Violet still standing there, waiting for me. She watches it slowly close, until the door shuts completely, before finally taking off.

"Violet," I say her name like a command, and she stops in her tracks. I reach for her, sliding my arm around her side and I yank her against me. "Don't take the meds. You're fine without them."

"You sure about that?" she asks, but her voice is strong and steady in the dark hallway.

"Yeah. You are."

She smiles slightly.

"We'll see."

She breaks away from me, walking away towards her room, and I have to force myself not to follow after her.


	12. Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric gets a chance to form a friendship, and some insider information, in group therapy. Meanwhile, a power outage causes concern for some of the patients.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me just start out by thanking BK2U for editing this for me, especially since I promised you these chapters would be short. I appreciate your mad editing skills so much! (Especially on these super, not short chapters!)
> 
> &
> 
> Thank you to everyone who continues to follow and review the story, and to those who've told me how much you've loved reading it. I feel like everyone can relate, even just a little bit, to crazy Eric. Congrats to those who've figured out who the other inmates are or are based of off! You're good ;)

I dream of her.

It's Christina all over again, dangling above rushing waters as her fingers slowly slip, one by one, until she realizes she's about to fall. Except this time, when she looks up at me, it isn't Christina I see, it's Violet. 

Her hair is wet and damp, and her eyes are dark and pleading as everything around her seems to fade away, until all I can see is her. I feel myself step forward, blood rushing loudly in my ears, as I reach my hand out, my intent changing drastically.

I'm too late, though.

Unable to hold onto the wet railing, she lets go, falling into the darkness and closing her eyes right before I can't see her anymore. My chest tightens, the sensation hurting as though someone is trying to remove my organs with a fork, and I try to say her name.

My eyes open.

This time when I fully wake up, the feeling is still so real, so painful and dark, that I have a hard time believing it didn't happen.

 

 

At an ungodly early hour, I contemplate how satisfying it would be to stab Owen in the throat with a pen.

I lean back in my chair, resting my head on my hands, my gaze stuck on the ballpoint pen he somehow acquired. It's strange to me, considering this place forbids almost anything that could be made into a weapon or that might be used to cause harm, that no one has noticed him holding such contraband.

In the paperwork I'd neglected to read, there was a list of things that were banned for our own safety.

Shoelaces.

Pencils.

Strings of any sort.

Books with a thick, heavy backing.

Scissors.

Nail clippers.

Razor blades.

Button down shirts.

Long sleeves, except with prior permission.

Brushes.

Combs.

Pens.

The list went on and on, taking up several paragraphs in a handbook I had finally skimmed through one day out of sheer boredom. I felt none of it applied to me since I wasn't planning on staying here. I'd read through my rights as a patient of Hidden Hills Sanitarium — laughable at best — and I'd breezed through their treatment listing. They had yet to drag me to water aerobics, probably because they were too busy trying to patch together Jeanine's latest victims so they could return them to her in fighting shape.

It was now weighing heavily on my mind that I'd never watched what she did with them after I handed them over. Maybe I should have stayed past dropping them off; maybe I should have observed for at least a few minutes.

I'd never even thought about it. I simply took the lists she sent me, the ones with names that ranged from Abby to Zade, and brought those people to her. Sometimes, I recognized the names. I never once felt anything towards them, only a speck of triumph that I could find them easier since I lived among them. Zade sounded like someone who would have been harder to drag in than someone named David, but you never knew. I learned to be surprised, that the ones I thought would come along willingly often fought the hardest, and the ones I thought were the bravest often were the weakest.

Like Owen.

My gaze travels from his fingers clicking the pen, now ripped out of his hand by Dr. Erin with a disapproving scowl, to the bandages covering his wrists. He'd graciously been given a long-sleeved shirt, one that had cuffs meant to hide the thick white gauze, but it didn't work. The bandages were clean, stark white without a drop of blood, and tightly taped up. I don't know his story, but I don't need to learn it. He reminds me of the initiates who sought the easy way out, the ones who wanted to cheat the system because they were afraid, and it infuriates me.

He's a coward.

"Eric?"

I tear my gaze away from Owen's wrists to look at Violet. She's been sitting beside me for the past half hour, so silent it was like she wasn't even there.

"Would you want to eat lunch with me? I asked Kenan if we could eat outside and he said yes. But we have to bring some other people with us. Only if you'd like to, of course."

Violet waits patiently for my answer while holding my stare. Her hair is braided down each side, the ends pulled loose as though she's been messing with them out of boredom. She never looks nervous when she speaks to me, not even after what happened. She only looks hopeful, occasionally desperate for something I can't give her. Something more than I could offer her, even if I weren't in this place.

But I find myself unable to say no. Besides, I have questions I want answered by her, and it's better than eating in the cafeteria.

I nod my head, smiling slightly and nudging her with my elbow.

"Of course. Let's extend our second invite to your best friend, Owen."

I kick the back of his chair hard enough that it moves forward, and he tries hard to pretend like he doesn't notice.

Violet grins, and I go back to listening to our guest speaker, a small man who looks appropriately scared for his life. I listen for a half second before I close my eyes, tuning out his speech on ways to stop judging people's character.

"He doesn't bother me anymore," Violet announces firmly, her voice just loud enough for me to hear. "I mean it."

She says the last part with great emphasis, and this time, Owen reacts. He cringes, pulling his shoulders up and slumping in his seat.

"Good girl," I announce offhandedly, really only half interested because I'm still thinking about killing him, but she smiles brightly.

In that moment, I decide Violet isn't weak; in fact, she's stronger than most.

And she would have most certainly put up a fight had I come to drag her to her death.

 

 

Fear is a funny thing.

In Dauntless, I'd often found myself brave out of necessity — out of the need for survival in a faction I'd chosen because I'd had no other choice. Being scared meant being factionless, an option that didn't exist in my mind, nor did going home to a family that I didn't have. I'd never considered myself someone who scared easily, so I had already decided it would be fairly easy to make it through initiation.

I can still remember the feeling of fear that came up after the landscape; the sickly painful way it hurt, burned at my lungs and my skin, and wrapped around my neck like a vise. How it felt to stumble out of the room, pale and sweaty, trying hard not to vomit up my breakfast in front of boys who were watching with weighted stares. I'd forced myself to face everything that came up without moving, no matter how painful. Over time, it got easier, the simulations growing shorter and shorter, until I could work through them fairly easily, priding myself that not once did I ever make a sound.

I had learned to steel myself once I knew what to expect; I could tell the moment the shitty feeling was starting, the way fear worked its way through my system, triggering the fight or flight reflex.

In the simulations, my fears presented themselves clearly, as bright images that were sharp and distinct. But once I felt the familiar tingle in my hands, or the way my heart sped up and my legs seemed to turn to lead, I knew it wasn't real. My fears might have been real — failure, humiliation, embarrassment at being seen as weak, long-legged spiders that liked the ancient books and dusty corners of the Erudite libraries, not being the best at everything I did — but what I was experiencing wasn't. The images and scenarios would blur, their edges softening as the intensity lessened, and I would make my way through each simulation, triumphantly leaping up out of the chair when I was done.

I feel the familiar stickiness of fear and a heaviness that settles into my chest as Dr. Branger walks me to a room marked Intensive Therapy, opening the door with a slight frown on her face. She gestures for me to step in, her hair seeming wilder than ever today.

"You first."

 

 

"Fuck."

I rub at my temples, walking down the hallway and ignoring the wailing coming from behind the closed doors. I have no idea what time it is, though it can't be very late. It's odd that patients are in their rooms right now, but then again, I am taking a different route back past rooms I don't normally see. It only furthers my suspicion that this place is hiding something, though now is not the time for me to solve such a mystery.

"You okay, man?"

An orderly walks by me, concerned for not more than a single second as I nod my head yes. Dr. Branger had done her worst, though to be honest, it wasn't the most awful time I'd ever had. I'd thought Intensive Therapy would have been something along the lines of being shocked, electrocuted into submission like Violet had mentioned, or maybe some type of forced aversion therapy. In a way, I was right. She asked for my arm, felt around for a vein, and promptly injected me with what I quickly realized was something similar to truth serum before she interrogated me relentlessly.

She'd looked a bit disappointed after she was done, and I wondered if her method felt like cheating, or if maybe she just didn't like my answers.

I had sat there, not even bothering to fight it, because I knew better. The more I struggled, the more the pain would come, even with a less potent version. So instead, I answered her questions about Jeanine and the people I brought her, trying to simultaneously figure out what she wanted. She asked me specifics, like how many names Jeanine had sent me, did the testing work, and did I know the Divergents personally. I tried to study her, to really focus on what was behind the questions she was asking, but by the time she was done, my brain felt like mush. Truth serum was rumored to leave a dull, achy effect, and I was finding out firsthand that it was true. The sensation was unpleasant, like something was making my brain swell.

"You hear me, man? You okay?"

"I just need something for my head." I force myself to look up, the lights a bit too bright. I wince as one seems to intensify. "Killer headache," I tell him, squinting at the man before me.

"Take the second left. There's a nursing station there. Ask for Grace. She'll help you out."

I don't thank him.

I walk in that directly, slowly so my head doesn't throb with each step, until I find what I'm looking for: a glass box full of women in white, with nothing to do but wait for me.

Ten minutes later, the headache that was going away is back in full force when I'm forced to sit down next to Bella, my partner for the next hour.

 

 

"You're not that good looking, you know."

Bella is staring at me with the focus of a mental patient. Her eyes are, for once, not blinking rapidly; instead, they're fixed on my face. She barely moves, not until she leans back in her seat and shrugs her shoulders in contempt. "You know that, don't you? That's why you're so angry. Because your face is ugly from certain angles, and you look confused a lot, and your hair is thinning out. You'll be bald in a few years, and no one will like you then, either."

"Thanks," I snap, crossing one leg over the other. "I'm glad you told me how you really feel because I don't know how I could have gone on with my life, assuming you thought I was really ridiculously good looking."

My words are heavy with mockery, which isn't a good sign considering we've only been in this exercise for exactly one minute. Dr. Erin announced that the goal of today's class was to make a new friend. To open up and get to know someone that we might not have given a chance to. I had no desire to participate in this, and even less of a desire when she announced she'd already paired us up. This reeked of the assigned group projects in Erudite, ones where I always despised my partner.

It was proving to be the same today.

"You're crazy." Bella sniffs, finally giving into the urge to blink. "Everyone knows it. That's why—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know what you're gonna say. That's why I'm here. Ooooh, wow, look. Eric's insane. He kills everyone. In fact, there's not a single person left alive in ANY OF THE FACTIONS because he's killed them all. Better lock him up before he murders someone in here." I interrupt her, gritting my teeth together. "Come up with some new material or shut the hell up, Bella."

I lean further back in my chair, moving my stare away from Four Jr. and observing the room around me. Bobby has been paired up with the woman who spent the whole class crying, and she sobs now as he awkwardly reaches out to pat her shoulder. He throws me a confused look when he catches me watching, and I shrug, not having a clue what the fuck he's supposed to do.

Next to them, Aidy has been paired up with Owen, and judging by the look on both their faces, it's going about as well as expected. She snarls at him every time he opens his mouth, and he grimaces and closes it almost immediately. So far, they seemed to be sitting in mostly silence, and it's unlikely they'll be winning the best friend award.

To my right, Violet has been paired up with Pete, which is disgustingly unfair.

"What if I could tell you how to get out of here?" Bella suddenly asks, her voice making my eardrums hurt.

"Doubtful you'd have that information," I answer, still watching Pete. He looks happy, grinning from ear to ear as they laugh at something, and I find myself wishing he'd shut up. "You've been here for how long and you haven't gotten out yet?"

"Thirty-six years," she tells me seriously, and I shoot her a look of utter annoyance. "Okay, three. But I know there's a way out, and I'm going to tell you how."

"Gee, thanks, but that sounds like a great way to get myself drugged or sent to solitary confinement. Why would I ever listen to you, anyway?" I sneer, forcing myself to look at Bella. "Why would I trust you for half a second?"

"I know," she answers. "I wouldn't trust me, either."

"Then why are you trying to tell me how to get out of here?" I cross my arms over my chest, waiting for her brilliant response. She blinks at me, rapidly, before she sighs.

"Because I hate you. More than you can even imagine. You're a spoiled asshole who thinks the rules don't apply to him."

"Bella, asshole is not an appropriate word. Choose something else. You're giving Eric a second chance — remember that. Friends do not call each other assholes," Dr. Erin calls out loudly as she walks by, pushing her glasses up her nose as she oversees her mind-numbing activity.

She looks disappointed, as though she thought this exercise would be a winner. I feel a minor speck of sympathy for her, for she always seems to be the one assigned to work on the stupid assignments. I wonder if she chose this herself or if someone made her do it.

"Fine, you're a spoiled serial killer who thinks the rules don't apply to him."

"Listen, woman-who's-married-to-an-inanimate-object: have I murdered someone you know?" I ask, placing both hands on my knees. "Is there a reason you're so obsessed with the idea that I kill for fun? Because I haven't snapped any mops in half lately, and I'm certainly not out there picking off people for sport. If you must know, I had a job to do. And if it wasn't me, it would have been someone else. So shut the fuck up and stay out of my way from here on out."

I hiss the last part and she recoils.

"That's not very-"

"Also, your husband isn't real." I examine my nails, then smile at her when her face turns to rage.

"Why, you fucking dick…"

"Bella, second chances also do not involve the word dick," Dr. Erin reminds her, only a few people away.

"Some might," Pete helpfully suggests, snickering until Dr. Erin turns back to him with a frown.

"Let me ask you something," I glare at Bella, realizing there's a chance this will go absolutely nowhere. "Why are you here? Your real husband get bored with your unhinged mental stability, or did you wander in here on accident? Because it's clear to me that you belong here."

She sits there like she's contemplating my words, really thinking them over, before she rolls her eyes.

"I was fine for a long time. I was totally fine. Then one day he thought I wasn't. He said I was seeing things, hearing things, and that I wasn't really dead—"

My stare jerks back to her, my interest unfortunately piqued.

"Dead? You think you're dead?"

"I am," she answers, so assuredly, like I'd asked her if she was breathing. "Haven't you noticed?"

"You seem fairly alive to me. Not all quite there, but certainly breathing," I tell her, staring at her for a moment. "Why do you think you're dead?"

"I don't think I'm dead. I know I'm dead. I'm a ghost. And guess what, Eric, if you aren't nice to me, I will haunt your ass until you can't take it anymore. How's that sound?"

"You aren't a ghost, but you'll definitely haunt my nightmares for a long time to come," I answer flatly, pressing on my temples. The pulsing is back, and it grows worse every time she speaks. "You know what? Never mind. Forget I asked. I can figure out why you're here."

"You think you know everything, don't you?" She squints at me, her face turning red. "You think you're so smart because you…because you…"

I wait for a long time. For at least two minutes, while it's silent and she thinks of why I'm so smart. I could egg her on, but her silence is rather welcome.

"Well?" I finally gesture, catching sight of Violet grinning widely at Pete. She makes a gesture with her hands, holding up six fingers, and I turn back to Bella, her crazy eyes unfortunately on me. "I'm waiting."

"You know what? You are really dumb. I take back what I said earlier." She smiles widely, insanely.

I flip her off.

"I'm done here."

"Hey! Sit down! If we don't finish this, we don't get our points for today! You aren't ruining this for me! There's a prize for the winner." She shrieks the words loudly, causing almost everyone in the room to turn and look at us. Owen flashes me a curious wow, and Violet turns her head around, locking eyes with me.

"ERIC!" Bella screams my name, and I reluctantly turn back to face her.

"What's the prize? More medication? A ride on a pink unicorn?" I taunt her and she looks ready to stab me.

"An entire day of your own schedule. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do." She says the words in a rush, hoping no one can hear her. "Dr. Erin said it, but no one else was listening besides me. I heard her. So, we are going to win. You and I."

She looks unhinged.

I stare at her. I can't be entirely sure she's telling the truth, but she seems too worked up to be lying.

"No art therapy. No group therapy. No eating lunch with all these morons," she gestures to Aidy, who bares her teeth like a wild animal. "No one checking on your every move. I figured that would sound appealing to you. You and Violet can finally spend the day staring at each other without anyone to stop you."

"Fine, then we win," I announce, glancing around the room once more. "I'll overlook every stupid thing you've ever said to me. I now pronounce you…my friend. For life. Next time I decide who I want to kill, I'll remember this moment and skip over you, unless you really piss me off. Excuse me, doctor. We're done for the day."

"Eric, that's not how this works." Dr. Erin sighs, but I'm not done.

I stand up, extending my hand to Bella who takes it so warily that I almost can't even feel her palm on mine. I immediately want to shove her away, for the idea of her cold and clammy skin is repulsive. But I don't. I yank her towards me, wrapping my arms around her tightly, so tightly she shrieks that it hurts —because it does. My one hand grasps her by the neck, squeezing painfully as I lean in to loudly yell in her ear.

"I forgive you, Bella. Thank you for apologizing, you little shit. You're right, the blame should have fallen on you since you truly are insane. I'm glad we're friends!"

I let her go triumphantly, then shove her away when Dr. Erin turns to face the rest of the room. Bella is too stunned to protest, her mouth open and gaping as I smirk at her.

"Thank you, Eric. That was…something."

Dr. Erin watches me for a long moment, and I bow slightly, mockingly, before taking my seat. She smiles, then leans in to talk to Owen, and I make a slicing motion across my throat at Bella.

"Sit down. And now that we're friends, you better spill your secrets," I hiss at her.

To my great surprise, she does.

 

 

"So, did she really tell you how to get out of here?" Violet asks, sitting up on the blanket beside me and staring up at the grey sky.

Her picnic lunch wasn't turning out to be the sunshine and warm grass she'd been imagining. Upon walking outside, we were greeted by air that was sharp and cold, and a sky that was swirling grey, darkening with every passing second. I knew it would inevitably snow soon, which sent a funny feeling to my stomach, because that meant time was passing by much faster than I was prepared for. I felt like it had still been warmish when I'd arrived here, and now winter was about to be upon us.

It also meant that the impending snow and ice would make it even harder for me to escape, a thought that made me even more annoyed.

"She told me a few things. I don't think anything will be particularly helpful, but maybe."

I answer her offhandedly, irritated at her for some reason. I still have the image of her and Pete laughing together, her braids mostly undone and her smile bright as he talked. They'd looked happy, like they weren't stuck in group therapy in an insane asylum, and it pissed me off.

"Will you leave soon?" She sits up, squinting down at me, and I shrug. She picks up on my shit attitude, and her smile falters. "It's okay, you don't have to tell me."

I watch Violet look up at the sky, wrapping her hands around her knees. I want to kick her, for she's far too easily swayed by others' emotions, but she looks down at me again, and she forces herself to smile.

"I would miss you. No one else has ever made Bella have so many meltdowns. I think this is a record."

I stare up at her dark eyes, and I can't help but smirk back.

After telling me her tale of how to escape, Bella had lost her mind. It was like someone had flipped a light switch once she realized what she'd said. She started yelling that the game was a trick, that I wasn't really her friend, and she'd never be friends with someone like me. That I was a murderer and a traitor, a master manipulator. She'd shrieked and screamed, losing her goddamned mind for a good five minutes.

Until they handed us the passes that said we were excused from all therapies and required classes on a day of our choosing. She'd gone silent, gaped at me, then dropped her pass when she hyperventilated with excitement.

"I knew we'd win. I knew I could get you to do what I wanted."

She sounded triumphant, so pleased with herself that I wondered if she'd feel the same when she realized she dropped her pass and I had pocketed it along with my own.

"I don't think she really knows how to get out of here. And I have to say, she's the worst person I've ever met. I think I'd rather spend an entire day with Four than her."

"Who's Four? Is he like Bella?" Violet asks, adjusting herself on the hard ground as I remember she doesn't know him. It's odd that I feel like she should, as though Four in a mental institution wouldn't be a far stretch. "Bobby said…Bobby said you have a lot of friends in Dauntless because you're their leader. But a good leader, not a corrupt one."

"A corrupt leader?" It's my turn to stare at her. "What do you mean? What leader is corrupt?"

"Hey, Dr. Erin sent this out with us. She said congrats on all your personal growth, Eric. She said it with a straight face, too."

Aidy flops down on the ground beside me and winks, holding up a box with a bright sticker on the top. I sit up, reading the words in a disgusted voice.

" 'Donut ever doubt what you're capable of'. How witty." I reach over to take the box, opening it up to find a dozen donuts, all sorts of flavors and colors, neatly arranged. "Is this part of my prize?"

"I think we were supposed to drop a few off with Bella, but she's MIA. Something about her husband and the floor cleaner and how she doesn't need him anymore. The orderlies really seemed to enjoy sedating her this time."

I can't help but smile.

"What a shame she's missing out."

I offer the box to Violet, and she eyes it carefully before selecting one to eat.

"Is she alright?" Violet asks, and Aidy shrugs.

"Who even cares? She's been gloating all morning that she won, and she's starting to get annoying. She did get mad when she realized she wasn't invited outside."

"She's not cool enough to be invited out here," Bobby announces, settling down beside Aidy. Along with her and Violet, they'd invited Pete, and that seemed to be it for their cool club. In the distance, I spy Kenan settling down into a lawn chair, his eyes closing as he relaxes instead of keeping an eye on us. "Plus, she stepped on my foot in line this morning and insisted I was in her way. What a dumbass."

"Give us the box, Eric. Just because you're the king of group therapy doesn't mean you're too good to share." With a grin, Aidy rips the box from my hands, and I lie down, crossing my feet at my ankles.

"Enjoy. I don't want any."

"You on a diet?" Aidy asks, her mouth now full of donut. "You trying to slim down before you head out of here?"

"Yes." I close my eyes, ignoring all of them. "It'll be easier to fit through the bars that way."

Beside me, Pete snorts and Bobby laughs really hard, far harder than my comment warrants.

"Fit through the bars. Now that's funny," he announces, and I can hear him take the box from Aidy. "You're hilarious, Eric. What would we ever do without you?"

"Who knows?" I mutter, scrunching my eyes shut and grimacing when a single snowflake lands on my cheek.

"Eric, you okay?" Violet asks, and I suddenly despise her.

"Fine."

Another snowflake lands, this time on my eyelid, and I inwardly groan.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

 

 

The power goes out shortly after I talk to Max.

His phone call is out of the blue, short and hurried. He ignores the fact that I hung up on him last time, and instead he tells me that Jeanine is coming to visit soon and to be ready. She'll help you, he promises, his words slick and unsure as he fumbles his way through our phone call. He's never been good at bullshitting anyone, especially not me.

So for a second, I don't buy it.

But he goes on to mention that he asked Jeanine about her patients, and she told him they'd all made it through the testing with flying colors. She also said she's pushing the limits of science in Erudite and to respect her methods. He said she sounded suspicious of why he was asking, but he had no good answer for her. He said he blamed his own curiosity, but I doubt she believed him.

She also swore that she was close to finding the gene that causes Divergence, and she needed our help, now more than ever.

I swore my skin felt a size too small when he said our, the implication heavy within his tone.

This could go either way, and I need to be prepared as best as I can be.

For one fleeting and triumphant moment, I can almost taste my freedom.

 

 

The power outage tells me a few things.

It tells me that the hospital is woefully unprepared for such an occurrence, though Kenan grumbles that it happens frequently during the winter. It also tells me that the hospital runs off multiple ancient generators and that their backups are weak. I would guess that power is diverted to where it's most critically needed, and the less important things — mainly our lighting and heat — are drastically reduced. I'd bet that the high security floor is fully functioning, and that our floor is dim and cold.

The emergency lights they have on are especially dim. They flicker and wane as the evening goes on, sometimes for several minutes at a time. The emergency heating system is even weaker. Lukewarm air blows from the vents, and it almost seemed to cool the rooms rather than heat them. I ate a faux candlelit dinner of something that tasted like spaghetti, sitting beside a shivering Violet and an edgy Aidy. The dark was making her cranky, giving her a malicious glare in the low light. She snarled at Bobby the entire time, shoved him out of the way as she tried to eat her dinner, and reminded me of Bella when she finally stood up and snapped that she couldn't stay here a second longer.

Bobby was fine, but concerned that no one knew how to fix the generators if they all went out. He kept obsessing that it was getting cold fast and we could all die, though I doubted we'd really freeze. Everyone else was sure of it. Beside me, Violet was trying to eat, but her hands were shaking and Pete was trying to convince her if she told them she was that cold, they would light a fire. He said he would personally light a fire for her to keep her warm if that's what she wanted.

"I'm fine, Pete. But thanks."

She politely rejected his offer and went back to attempting to eat her dinner.

There was no fireplace that I had seen, so I had no clue where he planned to start a fire, but I imagined his idea wouldn't pan out.

"Eric, you cold?" he called out hopefully, but I shook my head without looking at him. I was mostly fine. I wasn't overly cold, I didn't mind the flickering lights, and I enjoyed the quiet that the darkness brought.

We finished dinner in a hurry, and almost everyone was told to head to their rooms. There was no point in going anywhere else. There's minimal lighting, minimal heating, and minimal patience from everyone. I'd gratefully walked alone, happy to have some further peace and quiet amidst all the panic. I needed to think about Jeanine and what I could gain from her visit. There was a slim chance she'd be coming to get me out of here, and a slimmer chance it would happen then. But I needed to be ready, because once I was out of here, her life was mine.

The first thing I notice when I arrive is that my room is dark — darker than normal — even with the battery-operated lantern I'd taken from the dining room. I set it on my dresser, then I spend the next few minutes pacing my room, trying to decide how I'd go about getting rid of Jeanine. When I finally come up with something other than shooting her point blank in the face, there is a knock on my door, completely interrupting my scheming.

"Hey, Dauntless, we're out of extra blankets. Violet's got one you can borrow. Grab it if you get cold, or just do jumping jacks 'til you feel warm. Your choice. Night check will be normal time, so go before then."

Kenan's voice is matter-of-fact, and when he peeks his head in, I notice he's got on a heavy parka over his uniform jacket. I take that as a sign that the heat isn't coming back on anytime soon, and I'd better grab the blanket or freeze all night. I'm no stranger to the cold: in fact, Dauntless was often underpowered and freezing, but that doesn't mean I want to spend the night shivering.

"Thanks. Will do," I tell him, following him out into the dark hallway. I'd already thought about whether the electronic lock system would falter with the power outages, but the answer was a suspected no. Pete had told me that, whispering that he'd already tried to sneak out, thinking it might be nice to take a walk for thirty miles or so. He'd been disappointed to discover that the locks were in fact locked, and today's keycode had already been changed. I vaguely wonder if it resets anytime the power fails, and if there's a way for me to test that theory.

I decide to try it out after I get this blanket. That'll buy me some time, easing Kenan's suspicion if I'm not back right away. I stop at Violet's door, knocking once and waiting impatiently for her to open it up. I give her an entire three seconds before I knock again, and this time, she opens the door quickly.

"Oh, hi, Eric."

She looks surprised to see me, but she opens the door to let me in without question; I immediately notice her room is much warmer than mine.

I don't know why. Maybe she gets some special, preferential heating system treatment, but her room doesn't have the same chill that mine does. It's still cold, but nowhere near freezing.

"Did Kenan send you in here to get a blanket?" she asks quietly, glancing once at her bed. It's unmade, and I have to admit it looks much more appealing than mine.

"Why is it warmer in here than everywhere else?"

I stare down at her, ignoring her question. She stares up at me, neither of us blinking, until her lips turn up just a bit. She doesn't look intimidated by me at all; she shrugs her shoulders and motions towards the vents.

"I don't know. I swear it felt like the heat was on earlier. Maybe it only works on this side of the hallway?"

I glare at the air vent like it has personally wronged me, then I sigh. I don't really care why it's warmer in here, I'm just very ready for this day to be over.

"Kenan said I could borrow your blanket. He said he's out."

"They run out of them fast. They aren't very nice, either. They're kind of scratchy. I think Abnegation makes them out of fabric scraps." She walks towards her bed and sits down, pulling her feet up to rest on the bed frame, definitely not giving me the blanket I came for. "They send some new ones every winter. But I never take them. Kenan made me take one last year, because the lady was watching and making sure we all got one, and he said she would feel bad if I said 'no thanks'."

"How benevolent of them," I sneer, walking over towards her bed. "You should have told her to take it back with her and shove it up her ass."

Violet smiles, shaking her head. "That would have been rude, don't you think?"

"No," I answer sharply. I sit down on her bed, farther back than she did, taking note that it's a lot nicer than mine. "They make them for their own selfish benefit. So they can feel good about themselves. Not out of the kindness of their hearts. They get off on their own helpfulness."

Violet smiles again, and this time, it looks like she's trying not to laugh. "I'll ask Aidy if that's true. She's from there."

"Seriously?" I stare at her in disbelief, thinking of loudmouthed Aidy, swearing as Bobby got too close to her, and offering to help with Owen's murder. "She's from Abnegation?"

"Swear it." Violet lies down, her feet flat on the bed so her knees are up. "She was married to this guy and they didn't get along at all. She only stayed there because her mom and dad were there and she was worried they wouldn't survive without her because they were older. She said she made it her selfless duty to insult one person a day, but in a way that no one would notice. But one day, her husband finally had enough of her hating Abnegation. She snapped and started screaming for hours. Refused to let anyone in her house or help her. They brought her here and she's been here ever since. She won't even say the word Abnegation if you ask her to."

"What a lovely story," I answer dryly. "Have you ever been to Abnegation?"

Violet shakes her head.

"You'd probably spend hours screaming, too. Their lives are pointless." I find myself growing tired at the very idea of talking about Abnegation. Thinking of Aidy screaming her way out of a torturous environment also makes me feel exhausted. "Everyone I know from there has proven to be unstable."

"I only know her. Pete's from Amity," Violet offers up, suddenly incredibly helpful with her slew of information, even though I'd already guessed that. "He misses it sometimes. He said they have big bonfires there. And in the winter, you can go slide down a hill made of snow and ice."

"Sounds like an excellent use of Amity's time." I lie back beside her, slinging one arm over my eyes and thinking of my last visit to Amity. "It smells like horse shit there. Don't let Pete make you think it's some sort of paradise."

"I'd like to go sometime. I think it sounds nice." She says quietly, stretching her legs out in front of her. "But do they really all take the peace serum? Every day? Pete said they forced him to drink it several times. He said it made him feel drunk." I feel her shift, turning onto her side to look at me. "He told me he had a high dose like I did."

"Are you still taking it?"

I pull my arm away and turn so I can look at her. There's something completely alluring about lying here, not because of what could happen, but because it's comfortable. For once, no one is chasing after me with a needle and the intent to drug me, and for once, I am not lying in my own bed with my racing thoughts about my next assignment. It's just her and me talking, like we're discussing new initiates.

"Not quite." Violet's voice is calm and even as she speaks. "I decided that I won't ever drink it again but it's hard."

"Are they forcing you to drink it?" I ask her, curiosity winning out. "Or are they injecting you with it?"

"No. I mean, I drink it, but I can avoid most of it. Kenan typically brings it to me in the morning, and I dump it down the drain. He doesn't care. In the afternoons, I told them it was making me too tired, and they were fine with cutting it as long as I didn't act out again. They said if I did, like the time with Owen, that they'd make me take it. Dinner is harder, but I just pretend to swallow it or sometimes I'll give it to someone else if they aren't looking. I poured it in Bella's drink a few days ago."

"How do you feel without it?" I ask her, making sure to really look at her. I notice that she's prettier when she isn't drugged out of her mind, though she wasn't awful when I first met her. Her eyes are still dark, but brighter and more alert as she stares back. Her skin is clear and her cheeks are pink, and her eyelashes are long. Outside of these walls, she'd be attractive to anyone, definitely not someone you'd think would be in this place.

"Fine, I guess. Sometimes, I worry that no one will like me if I'm not on it. I don't know how to react to stuff because I don't remember what normal really feels like, so I just try and feel okay. Sometimes, it doesn't feel good. But life doesn't always feel good, does it?"

"No," I answer lowly. "It doesn't. More often than not, it doesn't feel good at all."

"It could though, right?" she asks me, and in that moment, I have to close my eyes.

Because she's right.

It could.

It could feel good, and for most people, it probably does. If I let my mind wander, for one dark and guilty moment, I think it could feel good with her. This feels good, lying here beside her, talking to her like a normal person, the feeling of sleep creeping up my spine and the desire to sneak down several flights of icy metal stairs to hopefully unlock a door fading away.

"Eric, are you cold?" she asks me, and I nod silently. "Is Dauntless cold?"

"Yeah. It's cold there. It's underground," I reply quietly, my mind slowly forgetting about the locks. This is far better, though far stupider.

"I'd like to see Dauntless someday. Pete said it's really big," Violet tells me, and this time, she sounds very serious. She pushes herself infinitesimally closer, and I don't move. "I want to see all the factions. I've heard Erudite is very pretty."

She's so close to me that I start to feel strange; I don't want her to move away.

My mind is telling me that I could have this every night. I could take her with me, as though she were mine to rip from this place, for my own benefit, so I could keep feeling good with her. I'm discovering that sharing a bed with someone, not just for my own personal benefit, feels really good — much better than what I've experienced.

I allow myself to entertain the notion because my brain likes the idea, even though it's ridiculous. Bringing her to Dauntless would be a shit show, starting with walking in through the large, armed doors. Explaining myself and why she was with me would be a challenge, a fucking spectacle as they realized I'd brought back a mental patient to live with me.

But it feels good, beyond good, to imagine it, and for a fleeting second, I think fuck them. I would return to Dauntless as their leader, and my business was simply my business. I owed none of them an explanation, especially not now.

So, I let myself enjoy the idea, forgetting that I'm lying beside her in bed and that I should be grabbing a blanket and leaving. I let myself think about it until I feel her hair touch my chest, and I close my eyes even tighter.

"You can stay here if you want to, Eric. I'm really tired, and I'm going to go to bed. It's warmer in here, anyway," Violet says softly, undoubtedly knowing full well I should leave.

And really, I should leave.

I should leave now, but for some reason, I can't. She's warm, lying just enough against me that we're slightly touching each other, but not enough to make me shove her away. I find my breathing slowing down, matching hers, as though lulled by the warmth. I know I should leave. I should be using this time to figure a few things out, but I don't want to ruin this moment, this goodness that isn't for me. I don't deserve this, and I don't deserve what she's offering, not now and not ever.

But Violet does.

So I stay, lying there with my eyes closed, until I fall fast asleep.


	13. They All Fall Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric gets a surprise visitor who makes him an interesting offer. Owen's attempts to make peace with Violet don't end well, and neither does Eric's day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much to BK2U for editing this! I was SO super happy to see this in my email! Thank you for your help with a few ideas and for editing this so quickly.   
> Thank you so much to everyone who's reading and reviewing. I hope you guys all have a wonderful weekend :)

My eyes open to the sound of Kenan's voice somewhere in the distance.

I blink slowly a few times; it doesn't take half a second to realize I'm not in my room, but still in Violet's. I lie perfectly still, slowly becoming aware that her body is now pressed up against mine, her back is against my chest and one of my arms was flung over her at some point during the night. I'd clearly enjoyed my time beside her, having slept like the dead, and it's with surprisingly great reluctance that I force myself up and away from her.

I swallow heavily.

She smells good.

Not like the shitty shampoo I'd been given to wash my hair with, and not at all like the cheap soap that I'd used to try to scrub away my day.

She smells clean and good, like something I recognize but can't name.

"Who did this?" Kenan demands, his voice echoing in the hallway. "Who in their right mind would think this is funny? Did anyone call Dr. Branger?"

"She's not here!" someone yells back at him, and Kenan swears loudly.

"Alright. Room check everyone — now! We'll radio that everyone will be late for breakfast. Anyone not in their room is a suspect."

Fuck again.

I wonder what time it is as I rub my eyes, trying to force myself awake. It's embarrassing how much I'd rather lie back down, but I don't need Kenan or anyone else stopping by my room and discovering that I'm not there. So, I ignore the small squeak from Violet as I pull even farther away from her, then gracelessly climb over her and off the bed.

Once my feet hit the floor, I feel a great rush of annoyance. The air in the room is icy cold, her selective special heating having been turned off at some point. My entire being demands that I climb right the fuck back into bed, burying myself beneath her warm covers and shutting my eyes until I'm unconscious. In my sleep, it was easy to be anywhere but here, with her.

Unfortunately, my brain also conjures up the image of Kenan, currently still swearing and very near Violet's door, and I realize I'm screwed either way.

"Shit," I hiss, realizing I may not even make it back to my room. I force myself to open her door as slowly as possible and head into the hallway, silently berating whoever built this place and decided the hallways should have tile floors.

I come to a dead halt when I spy Kenan standing there with a pissed-off look on his face.

The sight of him shouldn't bother me.

It's the sticky, embarrassed feeling that comes when he turns to look at me. He'll clearly see what room I'm leaving, and there's no hiding the fact that I'm well-rested. Sleeping beside Violet hadn't been something I'd planned on doing, but the worst part is that it was the only good thing that had happened to me since I got here. Maybe even before then. Sleeping beside her was comforting, the same way she found comfort in sliding herself behind me, or sitting as close as possible.

"Hey."

I greet Kenan casually, hoping he'll be so pleased with my politeness that he'll forget I'm leaving her room.

He isn't. He frowns at me, and motions to the hallway walls.

"Look at this shit," he announces, stepping towards the dull paint to examine the deeply-etched scratches in the wall. "Who in their right mind would do this? It goes the whole length of the hallway!"

I stare at where he's pointing, narrowing my eyes at the very purposeful markings. It looks like someone has taken something sharp, a knife or perhaps a pair of heavy scissors, and dragged them down the hallway over and over.

"The hallways were clear all night. This had to have happened before our shift change."

Kenan is talking to me, but he also isn't. I can see the slight panic on his face, just a hint of nervousness that this will be pinned on him.

"Hey, uh, Eric. Your door is the worst. Give me a minute, and we'll get you back in there. I'm radioing in that we'll be down late for breakfast."

"My door?" I repeat, and I turn my stare down a few feet, until I see what he's talking about. "Lovely."

I stare at the slick walls with the deep etches. A large 'E' has been carved into it, then X-ed out violently, sloppily. To add to the brilliant display, there is a splatter of what I can only assume is blood, smeared all around the 'E'. It looks purposeful, done in a fit of rage or mental instability.

I don't know who would do this or why, but it's definitely deliberate, seeing that no one else's door has been touched.

"Where did it come from?" I ask him, and I feel Violet step beside me. Her fingers close around my wrist, and she lets out a gasp when she spies the mess.

"Was it…was it Aidy?" she asks, her voice tight and frantic, her nails digging into my skin. "Kenan, is she okay?"

"Why Aidy?" I look at her in confusion, wondering why she'd think Aidy would do this. Violet is now right beside me so her arm is touching mine. Her skin is still warm from her bed, but the sleepy look on her face has been replaced with horror.

"No clue, girl. We walked over here and found this. We're gonna have everyone wait in their rooms until our rounds are done. They'll come get you when it's time to go downstairs."

"But it's not Aidy? You're sure? She was really scared last night. The dark reminds her of—"

"Violet, calm down. We'll get this cleaned up and then you can find her." Kenan stares at us, gesturing towards her door. "But I don't think it's Aidy. I think it's someone who doesn't like Eric."

Violet stares up at him with large eyes, and she frowns.

"I appreciate your support, but that could be anyone in here," I announce.

Neither of them laugh.

 

 

"Why do you think it was Aidy?"

Curiosity gets the better of me as I flop back down onto Violet's bed, waiting for her to sit beside me. It only takes a second for the bed to dip under her weight, and she carefully lies down. But she doesn't answer me right away. For a long time she's silent, fidgeting with her fingers and examining them intently before she speaks.

"Aidy doesn't like the dark. In one of our therapy sessions, she said Abnegation was very dark, and that they try to use as little power as possible. She would panic, though. She said they didn't see any point in keeping the lights and on and…you know…"

"It's dark, yes. I know that. They live like they're factionless even though they don't need to," I interrupt her rambling, pausing to stare at her ceiling, and she shifts slightly. "Do you have reason to think she'd decide to redecorate this place? Especially my door?"

"Not really," Violet answers, and I turn my head to stare at her. "Not on purpose. But she might have done it on accident. Like, if she freaked out from the power outage and they couldn't get to her to treat her in time."

"Doesn't the power go out frequently?" I ask her. "Kenan said it's a common occurrence in the winter."

"It can be. It just depends. It usually happens when it snows a lot. But it's barely started right now." Her voice sounds far away, her thoughts somewhere else.

"Gotcha," I reply, closing my eyes and trying to forget about the blood. It wasn't so much that I gave a fuck if Aidy was hurt, but I found myself not wanting her to be the one responsible for what was smeared on my door. "Well don't worry about it. We'll find out soon enough. There's nothing we can do but wait until they come back and tell us it's clear."

"I wish there was," Violet tells me, and my stomach sinks when I feel her reach for me. Her fingers touch my arm, right above the dark tattoo that sits there, mocking me every time I see it. "I don't want someone to be hurt. What if she is?"

I open my eyes to look at her, her face wrought with fear, and I don't move.

"Then she's hurt. There isn't anything either of us can do. But I don't think it's her. I think it's someone else."

I say the words simply to pacify her. I have no way of knowing who did it or why, but telling Violet that won't make anything better.

It's partially why I let her slide her hand down my arm, until her fingers slowly tangle with my own.

 

"We want to let you all know that everything is fine. We've cleaned everything up, and maintenance will be by to patch up the walls. What happened was a distraction, an unfunny practical joke, and we're taking it very seriously."

Dr. Erin stands in front of our breakfast table, her hands on her hips as she gives her speech. Her eyes are tired and she frowns when she glances at all of us. I feel a speck of sympathy that she's the one they sent to clean up this disaster, because it's a lost cause trying to calm down a bunch of mental patients, let alone ones who'd witnessed the spilt blood. But then I remember that she signed up for this, and I resume eating my bacon.

"So, I'll need to know where you all were. According to our nightly checks, some of you were not in your rooms last night. In order to clear your name, I need to know exactly what you were doing. If there's something you'd like to tell us, just say it now. We won't be holding anything against anyone. We're here to help."

She pauses, forcing a small smile on her face. "Unless, of course, you were the one who was in the hallway last night."

"What if we were in our rooms for part of the time?" A girl I've never seen before in my life questions, and Dr. Erin sighs in response. "I stayed with my friend because she was scared. Her name's Alice."

"There's no one here named Alice. You all should have been in your rooms the entire night. That's why we're trying to figure out where everyone was. It's important to promote healthy sleeping habits, especially now. We have plenty of coping mechanisms for when someone is scared, especially during the nighttime. But our policy is one person per room, unless otherwise assigned."

When I look up, she's staring directly at my face, and I stare back at her.

"Eric, you were…"

"Asleep," I bark, taking a slow bite of my eggs. "And I wouldn't throw blood all over my own door. So, no further questions for me."

Beside me, I can feel Violet stiffening, tensing up as she realizes that if they keep prying, I'll have to confess in front of everyone that I slept in her room. Kenan might have forgotten about it, but I get the feeling Dr. Erin won't. I can already feel the pointed look coming from Aidy, along with the rest of the psychos. I had found myself the slightest bit relieved when we discovered Aidy was fine, especially since Violet had been convinced it was her.

"You weren't in your bed when Dex came by at one," Dr. Erin points out, and I roll my eyes.

"Dex must need glasses," I tell her helpfully, and I elbow Violet to scoot the fuck away from me. "Because I'm pretty sure he saw exactly where I was sleeping."

"This does sound a little suspect," Bobby mutters, and I throw him the dirtiest look I can muster.

"Fuck off, Bobby. You really should mind your own business," I politely remind him, and I try to look innocent when he looks crushed.

"Eric!" he protests. "I'm just agreeing. I didn't see you in your room last night, either."

"I didn't know you worked here," I mutter, not at all wanting to participate in this. I'd often come across Dauntless initiates passed out in the corner of a walkway, and I'd investigated them less than this. "I didn't dump blood everywhere last night. If it was me, you'd have known. I would have written Bella's name or something."

"Leave Bella out of this." Dr. Erin stares at me, unblinking. She then looks over at Violet, sitting as quietly as a mouse while eating a piece of the disgusting toast, and she smiles.

"Violet, you were in your room all night, yes?" Dr. Erin continues on and the look on her face tells me she knows damned well where I was sleeping; she wants to hear me say it out loud for her own sick satisfaction. I have to bite back the urge to tell her to read a goddamned romance novel or something.

"Yeah," Violet answers softly, and I wonder if the doctor heard her.

"Well, Dex saw you during his check. But Eric…" she draws out my name and I slam my fork down. "I need to know exactly where you were because you weren't—"

"For fuck's sake, I fell asleep in Violet's room. Are you happy now? Does that clear my name? Do you want a minute by minute recap of the events? Don't you people patrol all night long?" I say the words through gritted teeth, hating the way Dr. Erin smiles pleasantly when I'm done.

"Thank you. That's all I need to know."

"Wait, are you serious?" Bella pipes up, and I notice that her skin is a pale white color and her pupils look way too big. She shoves her oversized sweatshirt up to reveal her mittens, and she crosses her arms over her chest. "You're going to let him sleep with Violet under your watch? Dr. Branger would have a fit. She should know this happened. You just said, "one person per room." That would be two people. One plus one equals two. No matter how cold it is."

"Thank you for the math lesson, Bella. I'm aware that Eric should have been in his room. But Dr. Branger is taking a few days off. You can report back to her when she returns. The heat should resume tonight, for anyone else wondering." Dr. Erin is trying hard to ignore her, and she glances down at the clipboard in her hand. "Pete, you also weren't in your room."

"I slept in the rec room. It was warmer in there and I heard Bella might come by," he answers easily, winking at me a few times. "I wanted to sleep in Bobby's room, but he wouldn't let me. I heard he has bunkbeds."

"You wouldn't have fit. Too many people in there already," Bobby mutters, and I stare so hard at Dr. Erin that my eyes blur.

"Fine. Carlos…you weren't in your room either…"

I don't know who Carlos is, but I don't get to figure it out. Dr. Erin's investigation is interrupted by Kenan, stalking into the room, his giant fur parka still on, and a dark-clad figure trailing behind him just out of sight. He surveys everyone in front of him, and he erupts into a shit-eating grin when he sees me.

"Eric, man, you've got a visitor. Your fiancée is here to see you."

The room goes silent enough to hear a pin drop.

"Fiancée?" Pete gasps, his voice high and delighted at this news. "You've had a fiancée this whole time? What the hell, man!"

I inwardly groan, especially when Kenan steps to the side and I see a familiar face.

"Right here, Eric." Kenan motions to the girl beside him and my eggs stick in my windpipe as every single head in the room turns to look at me, including one very wide-eyed Violet. "You've got one hour."

 

 

 

"I always knew you had a thing for me," I announce, reclining back in the hard plastic chair and smirking.

Across from me, Tori rolls her eyes.

"Fuck off. You're the last person in Dauntless I'd ever dream of touching. I just needed a way in here, and they told me your emergency contact list had no one on it."

"Sorry I didn't think to write you down," I retort, equal parts hating the very sight of Tori but also relieved to be out of the cafeteria. Violet had looked at me like I'd punched her in the face and spit on her, which I found to be irritating.

"Look, we don't have long. I need you to shut up and listen to what I'm going to say. Max doesn't even know I'm here, and the truck is waiting for me. I told them twenty minutes, tops. I don't know why that guy said an hour."

"Fiancés don't give each other time limits." I raise an eyebrow at her and she crosses her arms over her chest and sighs.

While I never expected an influx of visitors during my stay here, Tori's visit comes as a complete surprise. In all our time together in Dauntless, she and I never got along. She's always seemed to hold some very noticeable hatred for me, even more so when I started training the initiates. Every time I saw her in the hallway, she seemed to be glaring at me, her eyes suspiciously following my every move. She's the last person I thought I'd ever have come here, especially now.

"Eric." She says my name irritably, and I feel a speck of annoyance that she would dare be insulted. I'm the one wearing pajamas in the middle of the day, surrounded by people who can't be left unsupervised while brushing their teeth.

"I'm sorry, where are my manners? How are you, Tori? Would you like some coffee?"

"Fine. How's it going, Eric? Are you enjoying your stay here?" She responds blandly, pretending to humor me.

I sneer as she eyes me critically, and I know she's probably thinking I look like shit. My hair is no longer even remotely straight since there's an irritating lack of hair supplies here, and while my clothes may be black, they definitely aren't what she's used to seeing me in. I haven't shaved in days, and my bare feet certainly don't help, either.

"I'm loving it. You really should try it sometime. I'm sure they'd be happy to have you." I smile at her, but she doesn't take the bait. She simply blinks and throws a hurried look at the door.

"Now that we've gotten that out of the way, why don't you tell me why you're you here?" I ask her, crossing one leg over the other. I like watching her squirm, and it's obvious she's uneasy. "Were you just driving by and thought you'd stop in for a visit? Come in and check on the crazy ones?"

"There are more than a few reasons why I'm here," she announces slowly. "But the main one is that I want Jeanine dead. So, I've decided I'm going to help you get out of here, and you're going to kill her for me once you're free."

I stare blankly at her.

That certainly wasn't what I was expecting.

"Eric.."

"The fuck are you talking about?" I ask.

"Look," Tori leans across the table, her worn leather jacket crinkling with each movement. "I know you aren't here on a vacation because Jeanine thought you earned one."

"No shit," I hiss, regretting coming in here with her. I feel like I've already reached my fill of craziness for the day, and it's not even noon. "I'm in here because she needed a scapegoat. Does she deserve to die over that? Maybe. Would I do it for you? No. I'll do it for myself, if I decide to."

"Look, I know you aren't enjoying taking the fall for her. The progress reports that come to Max say you're arrogant and they don't think they can help you. That you'll never be rehabilitated."

"That's because I don't need their help," I say the word mockingly, and she nods.

"I know that. But that means your chances of getting out of here are slim to none. And if you were to get out, you'll be stuck heading to Erudite to thank Jeanine for the stay before you continue working for her. You and I both know she's going to expect the world from you since she thinks she's scared you."

"I'm not scared of her," I snap, but she holds her hand up to shut me up.

"We know what happens. When she slips up again, and we know she will, she'll pin it on you and throw you back here and have them erase your mind without a second thought. You aren't afraid of that?"

"I'll face it if the time comes," I answer coolly, having already thought of it. I want to tell her she's too late, that I've already decided I'll take care of Jeanine on my own, but she shakes her head violently.

"She needs to be stopped. And you're the person to do it. You know how she operates. You know the inside of Erudite, her office, her schedule—"

"That's flattering, but in case you've forgotten, I'm stuck here, and not for lack of trying. I've thought of every way possible to leave, but the truth of the matter is, I look at someone the wrong way, I get drugged. So, unless you're got some brilliant plan that I don't, you're on your own."

"I've already thought about all that," Tori points out, her eyes narrowing. "I've done my research on this place. When she announced she put you here, I found it rather fishy that she could just throw you in here on a whim. Did you know that up until a few months ago, she gave this facility whatever funding and research they asked for? Surely you must have noticed all the prestigious Erudite doctors that work here and not in Erudite? And their fancy techniques?"

I ignore her little jab at my former faction, and I shrug dismissively.

"I have. What's your point?"

"My point is that this is just another place she controls. She's toying with technology that would be able to wipe out anyone who disagrees with her. This is more proof that she shouldn't be in charge of anything, let alone an entire faction. You don't think the other factions would be happy to hear this, do you?"

"This is fascinating and all, but it doesn't change anything," I answer her, feeling a jolt of impatience. "You bring this in front of Jack or Max and they'll laugh in your face. No one is going to stand up to her."

"Exactly," Tori answers, sounding a bit triumphant. "That's why you're stepping up for the job."

"Even if you walked me out of here, I can't just walk into her office and shoot her in the face. She'll be alerted that I'm gone," I point out, and Tori grins.

She leans in even further, speaking so lowly I can barely hear her.

"Leave that to me."

"Bullshit. It's not that easy and you know it." I lean away from her, done with this conversation.

"I said leave that to me. I can get you out of here." She also leans back, glancing down at her watch. "While it kills me to even say this, I need your help. You know I can't get anywhere near Jeanine, but you can. I know you worked for her. She trusts you. Even in here, she'll still trust you. You just have to smile and sneer and let her think you're on her side. All I ask is that, in return, you help me take her out. Once it's done, Erudite gets a new leader, one that isn't experimenting on our entire population, and we all win."

I stare at her.

"I get you out, and we'll both get our revenge," she says quietly, her hair falling in her face. "You return to Dauntless, and life goes on the same as before."

"Why do you need revenge on her?" I ask, my mind whirling.

"Give me a little time, and you'll be free."

"How?" I ask her, crossng my arms over my chest. "I can't just walk out the front door. They watch everything that goes on, even if it doesn't seem like it."

"I know," Tori says, sitting back in her seat. "That's why I needed this meeting. I need your computer password."

I must have a disgusted look on my face, because she smiles, a bit gleefully.

"Don't worry. I won't tell anyone what you look at while you're supposed to be working. I just need access to your emails. That is, if you want to get out of here."

I sit here, hating her to some degree as I realize that once again, my future is in the hands of someone else.

"You have nothing to lose by trusting me." Tori tries again, this time, a bit more politely. "Or you can risk it and hope that Jeanine thinks you're worthy of being released before she wipes your brain clean. I'll let you choose."

I screw my eyes shut, pressing my palms to them as she keeps talking.

"You can also choose to rot away in here, spending your days in art class. Nice macaroni sculpture, by the way. They put them on display in the front lobby."

My gut reaction is to scream at her to fuck off, but that won't solve anything. There's a slim chance she could get me out of here, and I'd already decided I'd kill Jeanine when that time came.

I open my eyes.

"Fine," I grunt, ignoring her smiling face.

"I knew you'd agree," Tori announces, and she shoves her chair back and extends her hand out to me. "Then it's a deal."

I don't shake her hand.

 

 

 

"You lucky son of a bitch. She's hot."

Pete slaps me on the shoulder, and I shove him away from me hard enough that he hits the doorframe with a thud.

"Hey, dude! What the fuck. I said your fiancée was hot!"

"She's not my fiancée, you moron," I growl, storming through the hallway with a vengeance. I have the sudden urge to punch something or someone, whichever I can find first. "She just came by to—"

"Conjugal visits, huh?" Pete elbows me, having caught back up to me easily. "I didn't know they offered those. Then again, the only people who ever came to visit me were my family."

I stop dead in my tracks, turning to face him. I don't even have to say anything. He picks up on the nasty look on my face, and immediately backs away.

"Sorry, I… uh… maybe it didn't go well. That's okay. Some people don't do well under pressure. You know what, I'll leave you alone."

He's gone without another word, vanishing through a dark doorway, and I grip my hair with both hands and stare at the wall. I suddenly wonder if Tori is messing with me, stopping by just to fuck with me, and now there's nothing I can do to stop her. I've just given her my computer password, opening up my entire life in Dauntless to her, all on the single hope that she'll follow through on her word.

She could do anything she wants, and I'd be powerless to stop her.

"SHIT."

I find myself nearly hyperventilating, breathing so quickly that my heart feels like it's racing and my vision blurs. I try to calm down, but I can't.

For the first time since arriving here, I realize I feel more than a bit mental.

 

 

"How long have you been engaged?"

There is no relief from any of the questioning. I may have gotten rid of Pete, but Violet takes his place, her dark denim shirtdress a size too big and her eyes too wide as she finds me trying to breathe normally in the hallway.

"No," I bark, staring down at the face of one very disheartened Violet. I remember her words about life not feeling good, and judging by the way she looks right now, I don't think she's feeling very good.

She should join the club.

"Violet, she's not…it's not…" I try to talk as I'm herded along towards somewhere, but I'm being jostled and shoved by far too many mentally unstable patients to think straight. "I've never been engaged to her."

"Oh, so she just thought you were?" She's right next to me, her small frame slamming into mine every time the crowd surges forward. "Did you guys date for a long time and she just assumed—"

"Violet," I interrupt her, saying her name loudly as I turn to grab her by the shoulders. She flinches enough that I regret grabbing her so tightly, but I walk her back a step, until we are out of the way of everyone shoving past us. "I work with her. She lied to get in here because she wants me to kill someone for her."

"Oh, so you never dated her?" She perks up immediately, relieved that all Tori came here for was to place an order for murder. "That's…good."

"Good," I repeat. "Yeah, it's good. Great."

The two of us stare at each other, unmoving.

"She's no one," I tell her, mentally kicking myself for feeling like I even need to explain who Tori is. "Just another leader who doesn't want to get her hands dirty."

Violet blinks and I can almost see her brain working. When she finally speaks, once again, I wish she hadn't.

"She's going to get you out of here, isn't she?"

She sounds so despondent, so utterly low, that it almost hurts when I nod my head yes.

 

 

 

"Fucking Christ, Eric, comb your fucking hair before you come to my class next time."

Coach Melissa greets me malevolently, her stare filled with utter disgust.

I flip her off as I walk by, not really seeing the point in combing my hair to attend her weak version of gym class, or even just in general. I'm in an insane asylum, not competing in some sort of mental institution beauty pageant.

"You look awful," she continues on, ignoring me as I ignore her. "Like a factionless man who found some barbells."

I smile threateningly at her as I stand beside Bobby and Pete, wondering just what exactly she could possibly have lined up for us today. It isn't like I've missed her. We had a reprieve from her last week, and it was unfortunate that she was back today. My guess was that Daphne's class had been such an epic failure that it didn't look like she'd be invited back to teach more yoga, so we're stuck with this one.

"You don't look that bad," Bobby reassures me loudly, smashing his own hair down. "You could make a little more effort, but I don't think anyone really minds."

"Thanks, Bobby," I answer shortly. I put my hands behind my head as everyone gathers round, surveying the area behind us. Melissa had walked us to a small room off the gym. Much to my delight, this room had, at some point in time, been an ancient yet functioning workout room.

It's filled with some of the same equipment that's in the Dauntless training room: punching bags, ropes hanging from the ceiling, rows of workout machines that probably don't work, a disgusting-looking drinking fountain, and a few weight benches. There are some weights, nothing majorly heavy or intimidating, but I find myself easing up for the first time all day.

"Free workout hour. Do whatever you please, just don't bother me. I've got a headache. The orderlies will be here to assist you as needed, and don't even think of hitting each other in the head with the weights or messing with the ropes. At the first sign of anyone fucking around, you'll be sent to solitary and drugged until you see pink ponies. Don't bother me unless you're bleeding, and even then, ask Lars and Larry before you show me."

My gaze swings to the two men who'd been chosen to help out, noticing that they both look bored out of their skulls. They smile without really smiling, and one checks his watch before grimacing.

I get the feeling that this could be a long hour for them. I smirk when one glances warily at me, but it doesn't go unnoticed by Melissa.

"Or Prince Eric can help you. Fuck if I care. See you in an hour."

With that announcement, she leaves, pressing one hand to her temple and grimacing as she walks back into the dusty gym.

"Does this happen a lot?" I ask Bobby, and he nods.

"All the time. You think she'd get it checked out since she gets so many headaches. But we're fine. We can work out on our own. Sometimes Pete and I make a game of how many times we can climb the ropes halfway to the top. Winner gets to write his name on the board. You in?"

"No thanks," I step around, patting his shoulder. "I'll be over here if you need me."

"Okay, man! Have a good workout!" Bobby enthusiastically calls out, skipping off to find Pete. There's nothing I'd like to do less than practice rope climbing, but I plan on taking full advantage of this hour.

I ignore everyone around me, all the other patients ambling around and trying to pretend they know what they're doing. Violet and Aidy both head out towards the main gym, and I watch them as one guard nods, then follows them out. They don't return, so I head straight to a weight bench as a strange feeling washes over me. The sight is familiar, even with the tattered benches and lighter weights than I'd like.

But I don't care.

I reach for the heaviest ones I can find, under the nosy glare of an orderly, before reclining back and closing my eyes. The ancient workout room fades away as the sounds of clanking weights and small chatter fill up the room. It smells the same as Dauntless, like sawdust and desperation, and before I know it, I'm sweating and my arms are burning.

"You good?" one of the orderlies asks, a man my height with a buzz cut. He leaves when I nod yes, and I spy Bella behind him. She's watching me with a horrified expression, and I wink as I sit up and wipe my forehead off with my shirt.

"Need some help over there?" I taunt her, and she crosses her arms over her chest, the mittens still on her hands.

"No. Did they say you were allowed to use those?" She sounds snooty again, forgetting our best friend deal. I smirk when I think of her pass, still in my dresser.

"Didn't ask." I return to my workout, my biceps protesting, but it feels too good to stop. "They said to work out. Not stand there and look stupid."

"You're so rude," she sniffs, but she doesn't leave. "Did you always work out in Dauntless? Every day?"

"Yeah," I grunt, wishing she'd leave. But she stays put, watching me with an interested expression. "Do you need something, or are you just staying for the show?"

"If you must know, I came over here to tell you that I think it's wrong of you to have not told Violet that you have a fiancée. Even you must admit that it's a shitty thing to do." She pauses and I stop, sitting up to look at her. "No one thinks that other girl is pretty, anyway. She looked very… mean. Kinda like a giant, too. Way too tall for you."

"Are you serious?" I ask her, wondering if I'm honestly waiting for a real answer or if I'm speaking rhetorically. "She's not my fiancée, and she's not that tall. And I work with her, dumbass. Actually, you know what, why am I even telling you this? I don't care."

"But you do care," Bella points out, blinking furiously as she steps closer. "You just don't want to admit it. What if Violet had a fiancé and didn't tell you?"

"Then good for Violet. Maybe her fiancé should come visit her."

Bella grins widely, and I realize that I still hate her so fucking much.

"Oh, so you care that no one has ever visited Violet before?"

"Go away," I growl, completely out of patience for this weirdo ruining my workout. "I don't care if she had a fiancé, and I don't care who visits her."

"But you cared enough to sleep with her," Bella taunts me, and I have to fight the urge to throw a weight at her head. It would be nice to watch her fall backwards, bleeding from the dent the weight would surely make.

"I fell asleep beside her. Seeing as how you'll die a virgin, I can understand the confusion between the two."

"Fuck you." Bella's face contorts, and I'm once again reminded why she's here when she lunges for me, trying to knock the weights out of my hands. Fortunately, she's too slow and predictable. While my hands are full, I simply stick my leg up and kick her in the stomach when she's close enough.

"I said 'go away'," I loudly announce, and the lone orderly turns his attention back to us. "Stop attacking me. I'm trying to work out."

"You… are… dead!" she shrieks, panting as she tries to recover. "DEAD! I'll kill you myself! I swear to God, I'll kill you."

"Great. Let me know when you get on that. And stop skipping your meds," I call out. When the orderly takes her by the arm, marching her away, I resume working out, faster and harder until I'm drenched in sweat and Bella is a distant memory.

Fuck her.

Fuck this place.

Fuck everyone.

All I have to do is make it a little bit longer, and I'm good.

 

 

Owen stares at all of us, smiling tightly.

His presence isn't very welcome, and while this fact brings me great joy, it makes me a tad bit uneasy because there's something odd about him that I can't quite put my finger on. He's rarely in our group activities, he doesn't sleep on our floor, and he hasn't acclimated well. His attempts to fit in have flopped, meaning everyone dislikes him, not just me. Yet they keep forcing him in our faces, trying to pretend everything is fine.

Right now he looks unhappy, his shoulders hunched and his hands clasped together behind his back.

It could have been the afternoon pissing him off, for it was dark and stormy, and the power still flickered every so often. There had been little improvement in our heating and lighting situation, though we suddenly had an influx of blankets and the guards seemed to be prowling around more than before.

We're all stuck in the group therapy room, ignoring the wheeze coming from the vents and the weird, tense feeling building in the atmosphere. It's at times like this that I am reminded of exactly where I am. Unlike Dauntless, these patients aren't accepting of the cold or the dark. Bobby confessed that sometimes those two elements were used in some of the more basic therapy sessions; patients would sit in chilled rooms to calm down, or they'd be deprived of sunlight — or any light — until they stop whatever manic episode they 're having. In Dauntless, people party in the dark, preferring not to see what they're doing or drinking, and blearily crawl back home when the sun rises.

I don't entirely mind the cold or the dark.

I'm reclined back in my chair, an arm slung across the back of Violet's, observing the room around me. I am no longer focused on how I'll get out, because there's little doubt that I will, but I do wonder what will happen when I'm finally sprung. Every cell in my body hates this place, but even I realize that I'll be leaving behind the few people in my life I've come to tolerate. It seems fitting that they should all be slightly insane for me to endure them, but I still have to recognize the fact that things will be different after I'm gone. I vaguely wonder what will happen when Jeanine's funding of this place runs out. Surely these doctors won't be working for free, pretending to cure patients when they really are only using them for their own personal experimentation.

I think of Bobby and Pete, realizing they'll both be factionless if the doors to this place close. I think of Aidy, who won't be welcomed back into Abnegation, and Bella, who won't be able to function on a daily basis without someone there to inject her with something to stabilize her mind.

I think of Violet, staring up at me seconds before she launched herself at Owen. I feel a strange sensation, like I miss her presence already, when I realize it's likely I'll never see her again.

"Why is he up there?" Violet asks, leaning slightly towards me. I know she finds me comforting, and I had long ago come to the brilliant conclusion that it's my violent nature that appeals to her. She must feel like I'll stick up for her, and she's right. I'd decided that as long as I am in here, I will.

"Eric," she whispers, sounding nervous now, her confidence coming and going as quickly as Bella's mood swings. "Is he giving another speech?"

"Beats me. I only showed up because there's no alternative." I shrug, and she pulls her knees up.

"He's—"

"Everyone, we're a few minutes behind today, so we're jumping right in. I'd like to welcome Owen back up here. He'd like to say a few words before we begin our session. Today's focus is on forgiveness and how to ask for it. Most of us have caused some people in our lives distress or unease, and we'll be going over ways to recognize those situations, and how to tell someone you're sorry and ask if they will grant you forgiveness. Owen would like to start."

Dr. Erin interrupts the room, clapping her hands together like she's commanding a kindergarten class. She smiles blandly when the chatter mostly stops to listen to her speech, then steps aside after Owen clears his throat. I'd already decided this would be a great time to take a nap, seeing as how there's no one I need to apologize to. Ever.

"Wow, so hey, uh… I don't really know how to start, so I guess I'll just jump right in. Wow, thanks for coming."

Owen stumbles over his words, his eyes searching to see if anyone's paying attention. Some people are. Bobby's head is tilted to the side and his eyes are open, and Aidy is measuring Owen's head between her fingers, occasionally crushing them together. Violet and I are just sitting here, though judging by her body language, she'll be bolting out of the room in a few minutes. She's sort of sunk into herself, her shoulders tensing up and her lips pressing together.

"Violet, are you okay?" I ask her quietly, not at all convinced when she nods her head.

"So, look, I know you all hate me. I know some of you dislike me just because others seem to have it out for me, but that doesn't bother me. I deserve it. I've done some unpleasant things, and I deserve the consequences that come from them."

Violet's head jerks up and she leans back in the chair.

"Violet—" I touch the back of her hair, sliding my fingers through until they graze the side of her neck, and she freezes.

"I owe one particular person an apology," Owen continues. Every head in the room turns to look at Violet. "I, uh…wow, this is hard. I went after her, out of anger and out of rage and out of revenge. I wanted to hurt her, the same way she hurt me. I wanted to really hurt her, and I am sorry."

He goes silent, blinking a few times and trying to smile.

"So, what you don't know, and wow, this is hard, let me just say that before I go on. But what you all don't know is that Violet and I have a history, a long and complicated history that makes this difficult, because maybe she doesn't have to forgive me. We know each other from before this place. She's the reason…the very reason that I can't be on your floor and the reason that you all won't speak to me."

I sit up straighter as Violet shakes her head no.

"Owen, stop."

"Violet, you see, the other day I attacked you the same way I attacked you years ago. The same way I let someone hurt you and didn't bother to try to stop him. The same way that you fought back the best you could, even if it didn't work."

"What the fuck," Bella mutters, slinking into the seat beside me out of nowhere. "Why is he saying all this? Who let him up there?"

"Why are you late?" Bobby asks her, and she glares at him.

"I didn't feel like coming down here. Kenan said I had to." She sounds lucid for once, and she cocks her head to the side until she can see Violet. "Why is he talking about this again? Like we don't all know that…"

"Violet, I'm sorry I helped put you away here. I never thought I'd end up here with you, but I'd like us to move forward. Forgive and forget. Do you think… do you think you could possibly forgive me?"

The room falls deadly silent, so still that I wonder if anyone is breathing. My fingers are still on Violet's neck, her skin warm and her pulse racing, until she jerks away from me.

"No." She says the word loudly, but her head falls forward. "I'll never forgive you for what you did. Ever."

The room is silent.

"Wow, okay, well, that's not the reaction I was hoping for." Owen's voice takes on a whiny tone, arrogant for a man who's begging for forgiveness. "Look, you know I'm not the one who—"

"It doesn't matter which one you were." Violet raises her head up, and she sounds angry. "It's never been about that, and you know it."

My prediction comes true.

She stands up and throws one dark look at him, and I only stay seated because Bella grabs my arm and yanks me towards her.

"Eric, you can't fix this one," she hisses, and I shove her away. "Not today. You think you can help her, but you can't. Don't be stupid."

I disregard Bella's entire existence.

"Violet…" I call out her name urgently, but she shakes her head.

"Why today, Owen? Out of all days?" Violet asks quietly, and I try to dislodge myself from Bella.

"Eric, sit down," she snarls, and she kicks me in the shin as hard as she can, digging her nails in further when I try to kick her back. "Listen to me, you dumb oaf. Your time as reigning King of the Mental Institution is over."

"I just thought that maybe, on your birthday, you'd find it in your heart to forgive me. Jack said… he said that someday… I mean, you did hurt the guy…" Owen tries again, and Dr. Erin looks on sympathetically, until her stare finds Bella and myself.

"Bella, let go of him, right now."

"Just stop," Violet tells him, but it comes out like a shaky gasp. "Owen, I can't. I can't forget what happened and you know why."

My chest tightens when she stands up. I stare at her, the blur of her dress and her hacked off hair. She stumbles over the patients next to her, tripping a bit and quickly hurrying out of the room as Owen stares at the floor, dejectedly. Something big is happening here, but I can't for the life of me figure out what they're talking about.

I'm jerked back to reality when Bella's nails leave my skin and she pats my hand gently.

"You'll find out eventually that she's just as insane as the rest of us. Trust me." She smiles widely, delighted at her friend's discomfiture. "You'll eventually get out of here, but she won't. And even if she did, why would you want that? She knows you'll never visit her, never come see how she's doing. You'll go on with your life, finding someone who isn't so fucked up by Owen and doesn't have to hide any deep dark secrets, and you'll live out your miserable days without her. Life's a bitch, right?"

My lips part open to snap at her, to offer her the chance to run before I snap her neck to the side, but she reels her right arm back, and I blink when she stabs me in the chest with a pair of scissors before I can utter a single word.


	14. I'm A Goner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric's recovery plans take a surprising turn, and Violet's reason for being committed is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to BK2U for editing this chapter for me! & Thank you so much to everyone who's been patiently following along!

For a moment, I feel nothing except utter confusion and a flash of rage that someone, especially Bella, would do something so stupid.

"Did you just try to stab me?" I turn to Bella, noticing that the earlier paleness from her skin is gone and she looks startlingly alert. Her brown eyes are wide and clear, and she smiles brightly when she turns the scissors into my skin.

I feel it then, a searing pain that makes my eyes hurt.

"What the fuck!"

"I did stab you. You can thank me later." She winks, patting my chest condescending. I'm suddenly reminded of myself, mocking an initiate when they've been punished for doing something stupid. I blink at her, her confidence so like my own that it makes me fumble when I reach for the scissors currently impaled in my skin.

For the first few seconds, I barely felt anything. The initial pinch when the shears pierced my skin, sure. Rage at her stupidity, yes. But I was too caught off guard to notice how deep she'd really stabbed me. The final twist sent a jolt of pain through my body, and I hesitated before my hands closed around the scissors to yank them out.

"I…" I start to say something nasty to her, something that will remind her that in a few seconds her skull will be smashed into a million pieces, but I can't get anything out. I'm overwhelmed by the sensation that I'm underwater. I feel dizzied, realizing that it's hard to breathe as I gasp to take in some air.

"Eric! Eric, are you alright?!" Dr. Erin shoves past Owen, knocking him to the side and charging through patients to get to me. "Eric, answer me!"

I don't say anything. I don't really have anything to say, because I'm fine. Sure, my chest has been stabbed with a pair of dirty kitchen shears, but I'll live. Even an infection won't slow me down. It's nothing a few stitches and maybe a painkiller and a nap won't take care of.

"Don't touch me."

I try to even out my breathing, noticing the way it has become erratic. I'm reminded of the simulations from Dauntless; I feel the same slippery feeling wash over me as I force myself to breathe normally, trying to reassure myself that this isn't real.

"Eric!" Dr. Erin says my name again, and I have to try to stop coughing as my heart rate speeds up.

"I'm fine," I bark, and I stop trying to remove the scissors when the pain grows burning hot and I cough again. "I just need…I just…"

For a second, I can't think. I've been in some painful situations, but not like this. My chest is starting to burn, and I wonder if she's stabbed me deep enough to really do some damage.

"Eric, stay with me!"

Dr. Erin says my name again, and this time her expression shows utter horror. I swear she grows blurry, especially when she's up close, grabbing my arm. I jerk back at her touch, hissing when the blood begins to slowly drip onto my fingers and I find my breaths coming in sharp pants.

"I said I'm fine."

I retreat a step, grasping the scissors with both hands, ready to end this stupid spectacle once and for all. But it's as though everything is happening in slow motion; she panics, trying to knock my hands away, and behind Dr. Erin, I see Owen make a run for it, hightailing it out of the room without a single person even batting an eye. I see everyone standing and watching in rapt fascination, Aidy's eyes glued to me, one hand flying to her mouth as she yells for someone to fetch Violet. Bobby makes a gagging sound when the blood starts to drip faster, and someone yells back that Violet is not a trained medical professional and will be of no help. Someone says my name again, and I realize there's now blood all over my hands.

"He looks…he looks like he's turning blue." Aidy squints at me, taking a step back. She looks frightened, and I feel an uneasy wave of fear at her expression. "I think he's going to pass out."

I grow hot, even more so when the room starts to spin to the side. This irritates me further, for the sight of blood has never bothered me. I've seen enough spilled at my own hands to be indifferent to it, but for some reason — maybe it's the fact that it's my own — it seems very wrong.

"Eric, what happened!?"

Dr. Erin is now busy calling for the orderlies to help, and I blink, swearing I'm hallucinating. Before me stands Violet, horror spreading across her face as she sinks to the floor; I suddenly realize that at some point, I sat down.

"Eric, you need to stay still."

Violet, the untrained medical professional, is ever quiet but hardly freaked out; she puts her hands on my chest awkwardly, avoiding the scissors and pressing down in some strange attempt to stop the blood flow. Her eyes meet mine, and when they do, I notice she shares the same scared expression as Aidy. "Who did this to you?"

No one says anything, until Pete coughs the name Bella. I raise my stare to him, feeling like I'm catching everything a second too late, and notice that Bella is missing from the group. I spy her near the back of the crowd, staring at me intently. It looks like she's watching for something, a sign of sorts, before she bolts towards the door. I catch sight of something dark, a mark that I can't quite make out before she's gone. My hands weakly pull at the scissors one more time, and Violet's hands gently stop mine, pausing to undo my grip.

"I don't…I don't think you should take it out," she whispers. "I think it's in there deeper than you think it is."

"Okay," I answer blankly, and I notice I can still feel her hands over mine, gently soothing me, and I have to close my eyes.

"They're almost here."

A second later, I hear a lot of screaming, someone barking orders, and what sounds just like the shrill voice of Bella saying something that sounds a lot like he owes me as a door shuts.

"Eric, hang in there."

Rough hands are on my shoulders, knocking Violet's away from me, and the pain seems to sear with every passing second. Violet yelps when someone shoves her out of the way, and her eyes meet mine as she steadies herself back on her feet. I hear her say something, mumbling what sounds like the name Derek as Aidy pulls her back a step, and it's then that I realize this hurts way more than it should.

Shit.

 

 

"Shut the fuck up. He's not awake yet. And he doesn't want your fucking pancakes. I doubt he's hungry after his attempted murder."

Aidy's voice is not the one I want to hear as I groggily open my eyes. But it is the one I hear, and she's loud. Her face slowly comes into focus, the fuzziness fading away and I groan as the pain in my chest seems to burst awake right along with me.

"Ma'am, you need to step away. We're taking him to-"

"Eric, can you hear me? You're not dead. I repeat, NOT DEAD. Bella only stabbed you, but she didn't quite kill you. But let me say, you went down like a champ. Even tried to pull the scissors out yourself."

She pats my shoulder, her hand warm and heavy, and I close my eyes again.

I can only hope that this a dream; one shitty, terrible, never-ending nightmare that'll be over when I open up my eyes again to find that I'm back in Dauntless, in my own bed. A second passes, and I feel someone holding down my arms and legs while I'm being moved. I try to protest, for I don't need to be moved anywhere, but they are stronger than me.

They are even stronger when they inject something into my neck, a drug of their choice that makes it seem like everything is slowed down even further, but which keeps me from falling asleep as I'd like to. I'm not quite knocked out, and it seems like a sick joke that now is the time that they'd want to keep me awake.

"You okay there?" one of the nameless orderlies asks, and I want to punch him in the face.

Is he expecting me to tell him that I'm doing great? Or that I'm just very, very tired and would like to be left alone? That I'll walk the rest of the way to wherever we're going?

I ignore him.

I try to close my eyes under the bright lights, and I'm vaguely aware I'm being taken down a hallway. I had thought I was still in the therapy room, but I'm not. Aidy and Bobby are running alongside me, both offering to help as the orderly swats them away. It takes a full minute, the time it takes for them to find an elevator I didn't know we had and load us into it, before I come to the sickening conclusion that I might be more injured than I'd thought.

The feeling is confirmed when I realize they aren't taking me where I think they are.

 

 

"Hi, Eric."

When I open my eyes again, I realize this was no dream. It wasn't even a nightmare. It was very real, and so was the dull pain that came when I tried to sit up.

"Why am I in bed?" I snap, not entirely meaning to take anything out on Violet. She just happens to be the only one here, watching me from the visitor's chair with her knees pulled up to her chest. "Did they sedate me? They realize I'm the one who got stabbed, right?"

Violet's gaze is fixed on me, and I stare at her as the sunlight filters in through the window behind her. Past her hair, I catch a glimpse of the tops of trees, and the sun trying to peek through the clouds.

"Violet." I say her name forcefully, but she still doesn't answer me. Eventually, she stands up and takes a step towards the bed.

"Do you remember what happened? That Bella stabbed you and you tried to pull the scissors out?" She pauses, and her hand touches mine, sliding over dried blood that's still there. "They don't know why she did it, but it was worse than they thought. You had surgery yesterday and they said it'll take a week or so to recover. You were able to walk around after, but you got tired pretty quick. They gave you a few things to help speed up the healing."

I blink, realizing I remember none of this.

"What day is it?" I ask her slowly, insulted when she leans away from me.

"Friday. They let me come see you, but only because they feel guilty it happened. They said they could get shut down over something like this."

She stops touching my hand and moves to sit on the bed beside me. It's not an overly comfortable one, and I'm clearly in some sort of hospital wing. Judging by the view from the window, I'm up fairly high, higher than the normal rooms. I try to map out the location in my mind, but my brain can't visualize where we are, and I hate that I feel disoriented and out of it.

"They said…you'll be okay." Her stare falls down to my chest, to the large white bandage, and I wish she'd look elsewhere. There's nothing noble about being attacked, especially by Bella.

"What happened to her?" I ask, relieved when she looks up to lock eyes with me. Violet looks better than the last time I saw her, wracked with panic, fleeing the room when Owen tried to apologize to her. "Is she here?"

Violet shakes her head, falling silent. She stares at me, then the door, then her head ducks down.

"Um, she's on a different floor. Someone…someone came for her. To talk to her. They think she missed a few rounds of her medication and sort of lost it and took it out on you," she answers me softly. "I don't think we'll see her again, at least not anytime soon."

"Where…" I start to ask her where they've taken her, but the door swings open suddenly, ripping my attention to the person walking through it.

"Good afternoon."

Of course. It's just my luck that we're interrupted before I managed to really pry any information out of Violet, and of course it would be by the last person I'd ever like to see.

Dr. Branger walks in with two nurses behind her. She's dressed like always, some skirt and shirt that make her look frumpy, and enters with her usual air of false authority. She waves the nurses away, asking one of them to fetch some papers for her before staring at the two of us like we might attack her.

"Eric, Violet."

The tone of her voice grates on every nerve in my body, and her face makes me want to smash her head into the tray table. I'm sure she can tell, because she forces a smile at the two of us, one that's as fake as the glasses on her face, and she stops at the foot of the bed. She flips through a few pages on her clipboard, clearing her throat when neither of us acknowledge her.

"It seems like you all had an exciting few days while I was gone," she announces, her voice full of strained kindness. "Let me start by saying, Violet, that I'd like to apologize for Owen attempting to bring up a certain incident with you. I know we've been working hard to move past it, and you weren't prepared for what he had to say."

Violet's spine stiffens, but she sits upright, pulling her shoulders back to make herself taller.

"You said he wouldn't try to talk about it in front of the group again," she tells her, sounding far more sure of herself than the girl who was shaking at the mere sight of him. "Will he be in our group this week?"

"No." Dr. Branger's answer is flat, and she doesn't look pleased. "We've changed his therapy plan for the next few weeks. You won't see him around for a while. Your own therapy plan will be adjusted as well."

"Can we—"

"Eric, I'd like to personally apologize for the attack that occurred in my absence. Dr. Erin has been reprimanded for her failure to control things, and I'd like to reassure you that your safety is of the utmost importance."

I raise my eyebrow at her. She completely ignores Violet trying to talk to her, and instead focuses on me.

"I'm well aware of what happened, and I'm not here to engage in a debate over this. I apologize for the incident. I wanted to let you know that I was at a conference when I was alerted that you were attacked, and I came back as soon as possible."

"How kind of you," I sneer, and she bites down on her cheek, trying not to react. Violet stays silent, saying nothing at the brief apologies to both of us.

"I've been in contact with Jeanine. She wasn't happy with what happened, and after a lengthy discussion, she's asked that you be transferred to Erudite to ensure that you will have no complications after the surgery. I assured her that your lung should heal just fine. We've given you a few things to speed up your recovery, but Jeanine still doesn't feel that our medical staff here is proficient enough in this case. She'd like to oversee your recovery. After that, they'll reevaluate your progress. If need be, you'll proceed with the final portion of your treatment plan. While this treatment is not what she and I had originally discussed, I respect her personal interest in the matter."

Violet sits up straighter.

"He's… Eric's leaving?"

"Yes," Dr. Branger purses her lips together, and I can tell that this is not anything she's agreed to. "For now. His orders stand to return here once he's done, but ultimately it will be up to Jeanine."

Violet shrinks back down, and her gaze swings to me.

"Eric, is there anything I can get you for the pain? We've kept you away from the patient housing floor so you would have some peace and quiet to recover. You'll head back there soon to pack up a few things for your stay in Erudite." Dr. Branger scrawls her signature at the bottom of the page she's looking at before she looks up at me.

"I'm fine. I'd like to get out of here," I tell her, sitting up fully and grimacing at the discomfort. "There's no reason for me to stay here."

"You'll be moved as soon as the transport is here to get you. Are you sure you're not in any pain?"

"No," I answer flatly, ignoring the way my chest feels tight where I was stabbed. I can only assume they've stitched it up or bandaged it, but I stop when something beeps. "Detach these monitors, now."

Dr. Branger closes her eyes and I can see the very moment the power slips away from her. I can see that her hand has been forced, that her relinquishing me from this shithole is not her decision, and I can see that she's been told to listen to what I say.

The machine beeps again and this time, she nods.

 

 

"Do you think they'll make you come back?"

Violet stands over me, her knees touching mine as she helps me put a shirt on. The act is ridiculous; I am capable of putting my own clothes on, but I've been told to move slowly and not to disrupt the stitches in any manner. I quickly found out that raising my arms up made a sharp pain appear, and it expended energy I didn't have. I'd already refused the nurse's help, but I'd given in to Violet, letting her gently pull the shirt over my head. She works at a maddeningly slow pace, but she is careful to keep the fabric away from where the stab wound is. After what seems like forever, she steps back to examine her work.

"I can only hope not," I answer, craning my neck to the side. It pops, relieved from being stuck in bed for days, and she's frowning when I look back at her.

"I think they'll have you stay there for a while." She looks away from me, her gaze flitting out the window to nothingness. "I mean, it's pretty chaotic here. Especially now. Everyone wants to see you. They're all worried that you were really hurt—"

"I'm fine. I'm not lying to you." I say the words sharper than I intend, but I don't want this pity from her. "It would take more than being stabbed to take me down. They should know that."

"They mean well." She nods, and it takes me a second to realize she doesn't pity me, but instead is trying to cope with this the best way she can. She looks lost again, the same girl that once sat beside me, drugged to the gills to keep her silent. I hate that I understand the desperation radiating off her, one so tangible that I can almost touch it.

"I know you don't want to stay here, but it won't be the same without you. You'll be gone and we'll all be here…" She stops, and her head drops down towards the floor. I feel like a piece of shit, even more so when she stumbles over her words. "I didn't mean anything earlier. I just wanted to make sure—"

"Thank you," I tell her, and I'm not so sure the painful feeling in my chest is from the stab wound. "Violet, thank you for…for making sure I was alright."

She nods.

The room is silent.

For a long time, she says nothing. She's just there in front of me, in clothes that have seen better days, looking like she might lose it. I get the impression that her world has been hanging on by a thread, barely strung together to keep her in reality.

"You're welcome," she answers softly, her gaze on the slick linoleum floors.

This time, I am the one to reach towards her.

It's not a far stretch, but it feels like it. My fingers take hold of hers and I have to swallow a few times before I can look right at her. I should be ecstatic that I'm leaving. Jeanine might not be the person I want in charge of my recovery, but I'll have a better shot at getting signed out of this place for good under her watch. It won't take much to convince her I'm on her side, that I'm far more valuable than she ever imagined, and that I don't belong here.

I should be counting down the seconds, ticking them off one by one, until I'm outside in fresh air. Erudite will be my chance to escape. Once I'm healed, I'll be gone. Gone from there, and gone from here. I'll handle the business I mean to, and I'll return to my normal life.

So why the fuck does it feel downright rotten to know that it won't be long now?

I look at Violet again, her shoulders slumping as she tries to straighten herself up, forcing herself to once again be quiet.

"Thank you for coming to see me."

I say the words too loudly. They echo in my ears and I hate that it sounds strained, but I don't really know what else to say. No one in Dauntless ever came to see if I was alright. I had teeth knocked out of my head, bones broken, my head banged around a few times, and there were more nights than I cared to remember where I'd finally downed something to help me sleep while a nurse warily reminded me it wasn't good to take them night after night. No one ever called or stopped by to make sure I was still breathing, and it would be unfortunate if they had.

So, Violet's visit means something, especially since she should have been long gone after Owen.

"Violet," I say her name, and I sound unlike myself. Her name comes out unsure, as if I'm asking her to say something, looking for her to reassure me. I loathe the feeling, hate that I need her to look up, because if I don't make this right so she doesn't look so crushed, I have the sickening feeling I won't forget it. "I mean it."

She finally lifts her gaze when I tighten my fingers through hers, but I don't move anything else. I have the strange urge to pull her against me, holding on to her until the feeling subsides. The sensation would be foreign, for holding her like that should provide no sort of comfort in any way, but I have the devastating desire to have her against me, even if just for a few seconds.

It makes it all the harder when she steps closer to me, tilting her head up until we make eye contact.

"You could have died, you know. Especially if you had pulled the scissors out. There was…a lot of blood. I tried to stop it."

She says the words softly, so kindly that I wonder what I did to deserve them. In more than a few ways, everyone had been right. I had killed, and whether it had been a result of my orders, or something else — some dark desire to exert total control over those weaker than me — I'd never said no. I didn't deserve someone making sure I was alright, someone finding something in me worth keeping alive, but here she was, right in front of me.

In the end, I can't hug her.

I can't pull her against me like I want, no matter how badly the feeling tries to force me to. I feel shaky, stomach churning and head throbbing, as I stand there trying hard to keep myself from giving in.

In the end, she's the one who closes the distance between us. She lets go of my hand, very slowly sliding her arms around my waist, just in case I might shove her away; when I don't, she leans in until her head touches my chest, far away from the bandage.

I'm right; it feels unnatural and awkward, the action so simple and downright conservative compared to the women who'd ever found themselves anywhere near my chest. But my free hand finds the back of her head, managing to grab a fistful of her hair, and I finally give in to the urge to relax against her.

The feeling is oddly blissful.

Of course, it's also short-lived.

A minute later, there is a knock on the door from a nurse announcing they're here. I don't let go of Violet, not until the very last second, and then I find that it physically hurts when she steps away.

 

 

The walk back is agonizingly quiet.

I'm not at all surprised when Kenan shows up. After a quick greeting and a long stare at my t-shirt, he graciously guides us through the maze of the hospital wing. Dr. Branger had offered to assist me, but I had zero interest in her help. I told her I would walk, and while it wasn't entirely a brilliant plan so soon after surgery, I refused to let her touch me. I had the sneaking suspicion she'd try something, shoving me down a flight of stairs or injecting me before I could leave this place. Rendering me sick or useless so she could keep me for her own experimentation, and then telling Jeanine I simply couldn't leave yet would have been right up her alley.

"This way," Kenan calls out loudly when Violet and I lag behind. I wave him off, following slowly as I try to memorize the things I'm seeing, knowing this is important.

I take in the layout of this area, the way the nurses watch us with solemn, curious expressions on their faces, and the high tech security system that blinks as we walk through each doorway. I commit it to memory, though hopefully, I will never be back here. This particular wing is more modern than the one I'd been assigned to live in, yet it still feels ancient, like it was left behind and someone tried to force it into the current century.

We arrive at a junction, and from there Kenan leads us up to the right, then to an elevator. Violet stays beside me, her fingers sometimes trailing over the ancient painted brick, reluctant to follow along. She looks eerie in this lighting, like she's not quite real, and I have to blink a few times to make sure she's really there.

"Have you ever been over here?" I finally ask her, waiting for the elevator doors to open.

She nods her head yes, stepping closer as a group of nurses walk past holding trays of syringes. "Once. But you have to be really injured for them to bring you here."

I look around once more. This area seems like a waste of space; it is large, with lots of floor to ceiling windows and unusually high ceilings. I can picture Jeanine walking through here, her gaze inspecting everything with extreme criticism, and I'll bet she had high hopes for this particular wing.

The elevator ding is jarring. Kenan ushers us through the door quickly, and I stare at the way the elevator floor doesn't quite meet the floor of the opening as he punches a few buttons and swipes his badge.

Five minutes later, we arrive back at the patient floor.

We follow him through twists and turns, and once we walk through the heavy grey doors, I'm hit with the overwhelming smell of familiarity. I hate that it's so recognizable from my time here. I follow along slowly, keeping my eyes straight ahead. There are a few patients in the hallway, some of the crazier ones who I know won't even notice we are walking right past them. Kenan whistles as we head down the dimly lit hallway, past the nursing station where several of the girls crane their necks out to catch a glimpse of us, and finally down to the row of rooms.

"You okay, man?" Kenan eventually asks, and his voice holds nothing but honest concern.

I nod.

I'm fine, I'm just struggling with the desire to head the opposite way he's taking me. Moments after we'd passed the nurse's station, Violet had slipped away, and I'd watched her slink down the hallway and towards the offices. I wondered if any of the doctors were still here, trying to make sense of what had happened, or maybe trying to figure out the best follow-up plan of action. Or maybe they're all gone, punished for what happened.

Whatever they decide to do would be pointless. Anything that relates to Bella makes little sense, and this latest antic won't be her last. I predict her wild outbursts will increase, and their only solution will be to erase her mind.

But I forget all that when Kenan opens the door to my room, the door sanded and scrubbed clean, and I step through into total disarray.

"The fuck?"

To my annoyance, my stuff is everywhere; the sheets ripped off my bed, the pillows thrown to the side, and my clothes — the dark fabric the last remaining semblance of Dauntless I have left — tossed and thrown on the ground.

I stand in the room, just steps from the doorway, and I wait for Kenan to follow me in there.

His swear is loud and angry, the harsh motherfucker echoing down the hallway, and he's gone before he can notice the folded up piece of paper on my bed. I pick it up once he leaves, after he's issued a loud warning for me to stay there and not go anywhere, as though a punctured lung and skin held in place by thread would allow me to wander very far after my walk down here. I wait until he's gone to open it up, and then I scowl.

The writing is very neat and precise, and the red ink mocks me.

I read it with a dark expression, one that mirrors the scribbled out Dauntless logo someone had drawn above it along with my name.

_You're welcome._

 

She watches me slowly put the shirts in some sort of order, neatly folding them and resisting the urge to find Bella and shove her face first into the wall to show her what happens to people who touch my things. I manage to restrain myself, at least for now.

"Are you happy to be leaving?"

I glare at her of the corner of my eye, wondering if she's really that stupid.

"I just, I mean, I know you're sort of…attached to some of the people here. It must feel surreal to be leaving right in the middle of your treatment."

"My treatment," I say mockingly, "is bullshit. But to answer your question, yes. I'm thrilled to be leaving, because I won't be back. And I'm not attached to anyone. I'm attached to my sanity, if anything."

"Uh huh," Dr. Erin says slowly, pressing her lips together. "Either way, I just stopped by to say goodbye."

"Bye," I snap, refolding the shirt and wondering where the fuck I was supposed to put it. "Do you need something else?"

She's still sitting there, observing me carefully. When I win the staring contest, she nods her head and juts her chin out to really show me who's boss.

"I came in here to ask that you make this a clean break. We've been talking with the doctors, and we've decided there's really no need to reintroduce you to the patients. Once you're all packed up you can head downstairs to wait for the transport. It'll be easier that way."

"Why?"

"You know why," she answers slowly. "I don't need you down there causing a scene."

"You think I'd cause a scene?" I ask innocently, sneering when she moves to hand me some sort of bag. "I'm hurt."

I stop what I'm doing to cock an eyebrow at her, pleased when she looks away.

"Eric, you know I'm talking about Violet. There's no reason to prolong this or to get her worked up all over again. She's been off task since you got stabbed, and that doesn't fare well for her own treatment."

I stare at her, undecided if I'm more annoyed that this duffle bag is visually offensive or that she's in here to tell me who I can and can't talk to.

"I know that you like to think that you know her, but you really don't. You have no idea that she's poorly handled the trauma from her past, and with the way she's exhibiting obsessive behaviors over you being attacked, I think you can see why we're worried. It'll be easier if you stay away."

Dr. Erin finally looks up from the bed, trying hard to look like she's not at all uneasy. She already glanced around a few times, pushing her glasses up her nose and attempting to keep a neutral expression on her face at the dismal accommodations. I know she's familiar with the patient rooms, but I wonder if this is the first time she's ever really been in here. She definitely doesn't look impressed, and I get some satisfaction when she sighs heavily, readjusting her position on the bed.

"You know I'm very sorry for what happened. I had no clue at all that Bella was planning on doing something like that, or where she got the scissors from. But I'm glad you're alright, and I'm glad the surgery went well."

"Gee, thanks. That means a lot." I roll my eyes, returning to packing up my shirts. The number of personal items I have is dismal at best, but I refuse to leave the shit here.

"I just feel like I need to go over some things with you. I feel the need to explain that the only reason we let Violet visit was because she was distraught by the attack. She was visibly upset and refusing to do anything until she was certain you were alive."

"Someone would have to try harder than that to kill me." I grit my teeth together, insulted that everyone here seems to think I'd be taken out that easily. "Trust me."

Not that Bella hadn't tried. I had to admit I was surprised to learn that she'd had managed to do some actual damage. I was taken aback that she'd actually punctured my lung with the scissors, which explained why I'd felt like I couldn't breathe. In order to fix her little tantrum, I'd had surgery a few days ago, but this incident had prompted a few things to move into place, including attention from Jeanine that these doctors didn't want. It was clear she wasn't at all happy with what had happened here.

I could tell Dr. Branger was pissed, and she should be. I had completed shit while I was here, I was nowhere near where I'm sure they'd hoped I'd be progress-wise, and I'd fully resisted every therapy method they'd thrown my way. I was the ideal candidate for their experimental methods, and I was now being ripped away from them. To top it off, Dr. Erin had been supervising at the time I was attacked, and losing a patient on her watch wouldn't have gone over well for either her or Dr. Branger, especially when there was an option to use me for their own gain. Lack of patient control, however, was something Jeanine wouldn't stand for.

"Well, she did harm you. And that's something we aim to prevent here. We prefer our patients in a more…relaxed state of mind," Dr. Erin states, watching me cross my arms over my chest to stare at her.

"I'm fully aware that you prefer sedating everyone into behaving. Easier to keep people in line that way," I answer, and her eyes narrow.

"I'm not here to debate our methods. I know you don't believe in them. I'm simply here to ask you a favor."

For once, I hadn't expected Dr. Erin to show up. Her visit was surprising, and even more so was the realization that she'd only come in here to plead with me to not say goodbye to Violet.

"Since the two of you talked with Dr. Branger, she's been asking about her own release date. How much of her program she's really completed. I hate to be the one to break it to her, that she'd never survive outside of here. But you know that, don't you? You know she's violent and unpredictable. I know that you…seem to get along with her, but you can't ignore such behavior. We need to let her readjust to her life here, without you."

I look away, and I can feel my whole face tightening. This whole conversation feels gross and unnecessary. I'd expected her to come in and apologize, but instead I've been treated to a riveting discussion on how worthless Violet is. It's strange, because up until a few days ago, Dr. Erin seemed to think highly of her. She's always been respectful of Violet, and I'd learned that she was the one to assign most of her unlimited privileges to her when she realized Violet could easily earn them thousands of times over.

But the way she's speaking right now, I half expect Violet to come lurching in here with an axe and a crazed expression on her face.

"She's violent? That's interesting, considering half the time she flees from confrontation. She can barely make eye contact with people or speak above a whisper. I agree, she might be unpredictable, but she's got it together far more than the others on this floor."

"Half the time. You've seen her attack unprompted."

"I'm pretty sure Owen coming after her counts as being prompted," I retort, examining the ceiling.

"Eric," Dr. Erin announces firmly, "Listen to me. She was brought here because of who she is. I think it would be in your best interests to leave her alone for a while. Especially before you leave. You'd be helping us minimize her reaction to your…release."

"You mean, you don't want her getting any ideas? You don't want me whispering in her ear that she shouldn't believe in your methods?" I mockingly answer her, hatred running deep in my veins. "She might not survive on her own, but she'd damned well try. That's the difference. And did you just tell me you're keeping her here against her will?"

Dr. Erin's silence is very loud.

"So, you are?"

"No, we are not. Her orders were to stay here until her treatment is completed. This event has been a major setback. She's not eligible for release, nor is she on track to complete any program. In all the years she's been here, she's made little progress—"

"Are you actually treating her? Or are you making her color pictures and tell you which animal is her favorite? Because your methods are shit, and you know it."

She presses her lips together until they disappear.

"Tell me, if you were treating her, just you , no Dr. Branger, no other doctors with their own agendas, no Jeanine," I stop and stare at her pointedly, noting the way she leans back. "What would you do? How would you help her? If you weren't keeping her here…just because."

After another moment of silence, Dr. Erin looks away.

"Alright. I'll play your game. If she was my own patient, one not here to carry out sentencing, I'd work with her one on one. I wouldn't let her get lost in the group therapies and I would prefer not to force the answers out of her. Perhaps an immersive method. I'd like to teach her to be able to process what happened, but all this would require…"

She trails off and I wait patiently. "Would require what? Just doing those things? Less aerobics and more actual work?"

"There are things about why she's here that you don't know. Things that are out of my control. I can't dictate her program as much as you think I can."

"Why not?" I ask, wondering just what else I can get out of her. "Why can't you change the direction of things? Start actually working with her and get her to where she—"

"She won't be released, Eric," Dr. Erin tells me firmly, and this time, her expression is grim. "Part of her sentencing is to be here, working through a very specific program designed to rehabilitate her the best we know how. Her program does not ever include her leaving here. She wouldn't cope outside these walls, even with proper therapy. She wouldn't be accepted anywhere. She'd wind up dead, just another factionless body you'd stomp over on your next patrol."

"You know that for a fact?" I question, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Yes, I do."

"And why are you telling me this now? A few days ago you were jumping up and down at the fact that I'd fallen asleep next to her. Now you're telling me to stay away. What changed?" My curiosity wins out over me, and the doctor seems surprisingly willing to share this with me. I push further, hoping she'll comply. "You didn't seem to mind at all, if I recall correctly."

Her cheeks flush at my statement, my words clearly hitting a nerve.

"I was wrong to overlook that little event. I was…I liked the idea that something in you resonates with something in her. The two of you of have this connection, one that I can't explain, that doesn't make sense. She should fear you, much like everyone should. You should despise her, for she is the weakest patient in here and the least like yourself. Yet, you two seem to need each other. Maybe you see yourself in her. Maybe you're afraid, and you feel brave by making sure she isn't."

"That doesn't answer my question," I point out, trying to ignore her armchair psychologist diagnosis. "Why now?"

"When you leave here, she will self-destruct. It'll be easier for the both of you if you put an end to this friendship now. Let her adjust back to the way things were. I'm trying to avoid having her slated for any extreme measures if she reacts poorly to you being gone."

"And you've seen no growth in her? Nothing? She's exactly the same as she was when she came here?"

"No, Eric." Dr. Erin sighs. "But that doesn't negate the fact that you've been giving her this false sense of hope. You shouldn't be getting involved in matters that you can't change. Even after you're released, you won't be able to help her. Setting her free would be a death sentence for her. No faction would be welcoming to her. We weren't anticipating you leaving so soon, and we know that she won't handle it well. You would have been asked to leave her alone when we knew your release date. To stop encouraging her to want out. She was fine before you got here. Content. She knew her place in life. You've given her this idea that her life can be something it will never be."

It's my turn to lean back.

My mind is whirling, trying to connect dots that are just a little too far apart, but I nod my head regardless.

"Are you telling me this because you think I won't be coming back here?" I ask her slowly.

Dr. Erin nods wearily, rising up from the bed and watching me carefully. After a minute, she uncrosses her arms and takes a step towards me.

"You know what? Say your goodbye. Just make sure it's worth it."

 

I find her sitting on the fire escape.

I don't know how, but I knew she'd be out here. I slowly ease down next to her, feeling like I'm far older than I am, silently cursing Bella and her attack. I try to get comfortable on the cold metal, but it's impossible for a few reasons.

It seems fitting, though. Nothing in my life has been easy, this conversation isn't going to be easy, so I might as well be uncomfortable while I sit here. I widen my legs apart, trying to make it feel like we're anywhere than on a rotting staircase, but Violet doesn't acknowledge me. She swallows when I nudge her with my elbow, and it's then that I get the feeling she knows what I'm about to ask.

"I heard about your room. Do you think Bella did it?"

Or maybe not.

She looks over at me and smiles, the kind that's so pathetically fake that it reminds me of the one Four had the day I told him I'd be helping him train the initiates. It falters the longer I stare at her, until I nod my head.

"I'm one hundred percent sure it was her. Though I have to say, I find it sweet. Clearly, she can't let go of our friendship," I announce loudly, wondering how on Earth she isn't cold sitting out here. "She could have just asked to hang out. She didn't need to go to such extremes to get my attention."

This time Violet can't help but smile, the corners of her mouth turning up, even though it's obvious something's bothering her.

"What are you doing out here?" I cut the small talk short, turning to face her. I'm close enough that my feet are almost touching hers, and my knee rests against the side of her thigh. She's dressed warmly, given the dark storm clouds that won out over the sun again, except for her feet. No one here seems big on shoes, but I get the sinking feeling Violet's were taken away from her. "You get tired of sitting next to Bobby?"

"He's going nuts that he hasn't seen you yet. He keeps asking Pete to break into the hospital wing since he thinks you're still there." She shoves her hair behind her ear and she looks away from me. "Are you…are you going to—"

"Yeah, forget about that. I want you to tell me why you're here," I interrupt her, and I wait until her black eyes are back on me. "What did you do that was so bad that you ended up with all these nut jobs? I've told you before that you're almost a little too sane to be stuck in a mental institution."

I expect her to look away, but I also expect her to answer me. After all, she told me she was working on a way out of here, and her post-shower confession still felt pretty fresh. There had to be a reason that Dr. Erin felt the need for me to stay away from her, something I'm not supposed to know that would make this whole façade fall apart.

But Violet doesn't give in as easily as I hope. If she were an initiate, I could easily intimidate her into telling me whatever I want to know. In Dauntless, my methods rarely failed. But she's not an initiate, this isn't Dauntless, and she's something more than just someone wandering the halls with a crazed expression on her face. Like Dr. Erin, I realize I don't want to force it out of her, I simply want her to tell me.

Maybe it's that I want her to trust me, even though I don't especially deserve it.

"You know what I did," I point out, figuring I might as well fill the silence. "I took the fall for Jeanine. I took the fall for another leader against my will. I didn't deserve any of this, and when I get out of here, I will make them all pay. But you, you can't possibly have done something so awful that they'd lock you up here and subject you to years of their treatment. I may have done the things they accused me of, but I don't think you did."

"Don't be so sure about that," she stalls, her gaze up in the clouds. "I'm in here for a reason. I don't think it's right, but you might. You might agree with their decision."

"Try me." I smirk at her, and she looks like she'd rather do anything — including possibly attending one of those terrible two-hour long therapies — than talk. The two of us stare at the swirling clouds in the sky, the misty fog weaving itself through the trees to the point where the forest slopes down.

"Violet," I prod, knocking her knee with my own.

"Okay, but it's a long story."

"I've got time," I lie through my teeth, unable to tell her that any second now, Kenan should be crashing through to tell me they're here to take me away.

Beside me, she sighs wearily. I can see her fidgeting, but I wait patiently. I press my feet down against the metal grate of the stair, ignoring the sharp feeling. It's painful, but good. It reminds me I'm alive, and at least I have that going for me.

"I'm sure you figured this out by now, but I've been in here for a really long time," she begins, and I turn my stare away from the metal and back to her. "I grew up in Candor. I was just a normal person there. I went to school, I had a lot of friends. I liked it, and I can remember feeling happy, really happy. Sometimes, I think about that, how good it felt to be happy, because I don't think I'll ever feel that way again."

She stops, adjusting the sleeves of her sweater before she continues. "But, there's this guy..."

I raise an eyebrow, already irritated with where this is going.

"He works with Jack. He administers the truth serum during their interrogations."

"Niles?" I ask in surprise, thrown off completely. "I'm familiar with him."

"Did you know he had a son named Derek?"

I shrug, trying to remember. I'd never personally interacted with Niles, and I'd always found him to be arrogant for someone so boring.

"I guess."

"Well, Derek was maybe a year older than me. He'd already chosen Candor, and he was…well, he was everywhere I went. I started to notice him on my way to school, on the way home, even when I went out with my friends. It felt weird, like I was seeing him in places that I shouldn't be. One day, he asked me if I wanted to get coffee with him. I was really dumb, and I had no clue that he'd been deliberately following me around. So, I agreed, and of course, it went terribly."

"Why?" I stare and her, noticing her arms wrapping around herself.

"He was…really conceited and obnoxious. He told me I was lucky to be seen with a guy like him, and he kept bringing up that he had connections to Jack because of his dad. He told me I should listen to what he said, because otherwise, he'd make sure no one would ever want me. I didn't really get what he was talking about. I listened for a while, then I thanked him for the coffee and told him I had to head home. He was mad, really angry in fact, but I didn't think anything of it. I went home, did my homework and I forgot all about it. Until I started to notice him more and more. Always looking for me, always like he was waiting. One day, I ran into him at the market. He was with a friend of his, and they both followed me out once I'd bought the things I came for."

She stops, and she takes a deep breath.

"I should have noticed that something was wrong. Derek hadn't bought anything and neither had his friend. They stayed a good distance behind me for a long time — until we got to the woods. I didn't live far from there, but he called my name and I stopped. I turned around, and that was when he grabbed me."

I blink.

"Looking back on it, I should have kept going. Or I should have screamed or tried to get away. But I couldn't. I was frozen, especially when his friend left us and said he'd be right back. I thought they were going to kill me, but instead, Derek backed me up against one of the trees and kissed me."

"What?" I start to say, but she shakes her head.

"Yeah. To say I was surprised was an understatement. I should have figured out that he was still pissed off that I didn't want to date him. But I didn't figure it out, and I didn't want him to kiss me. So, I pushed him away, and he didn't take my rejection very well, this being the second time. I thought I was saved when his friend returned right as he was screaming at me. He told me I was going to be sorry, and that's when Owen saw us."

"Owen?" I ask, and I feel an intense rage that he was involved. "What did he do?"

"Nothing, at first. I don't think he knew what to make of what he was seeing. He was walking towards us, and I knew he could see everything happening. He watched as Derek taunted me for what seemed like forever, not saying a word. He watched as Derek got so worked up that he hit me and told me I owed him for making him feel so shitty. When Derek turned his back on me, I thought I had a chance. I should have run away, but something in me snapped, and I went after him. I managed to get him to the ground, and I thought he'd get the hint and leave me alone. Instead, he hit me one more time on the side of my head, and everything went blurry. For a few seconds, I thought I couldn't see. But I managed to kick Derek in the stomach, and when he fell back, he hit his head on the rocks behind him."

"Violet," I blurt out, my fists clenched tightly, but she shakes her head again.

"It's as bad as you're thinking. His skull was split open, and it immediately started to bleed everywhere. He was still conscious, but I knew it couldn't be good. I tried to help him. I went over to him, and I…I tried to stop the bleeding and I tried to keep him calm. And he kept…he kept saying it was all my fault, and how he'd kill me when he could. Owen finally came forward. He said my name once and then he fled, yelling he'd be back. I didn't know where he was going. I thought maybe he was getting help, so I stayed with Derek, telling him to hang in there. I don't know why. The man was going to hurt me, and here I was, trying to console him because I was afraid for my own life. Owen returned not long after, but not with the help I was hoping for. He came back with Jack and Niles."

"Did he die?" I ask, as one thousand thoughts ram their way around my brain. "Is Derek still alive? Is he here?"

"No." She shakes her head furiously. "He died before they could get him out of the woods. Niles was understandably furious. He blamed me and I couldn't…I never even got to tell them what happened. They kept asking Owen, and he made it sound like I'd killed him for no reason at all. I pleaded with them to listen to me, that what Owen was saying wasn't entirely true. That Derek had assaulted me, and I'd only tried to get him off of me. I'm sure you can guess the rest. I was prosecuted that day. Charged with the murder of Niles' son, and sentenced to time here. I was told I was lucky, that I should have been executed that day."

Her voice trails off slightly, and she looks faraway, like she's reliving it all over again.

"I wasn't actually of choosing age, so my parents accepted the sentence for me. Since I was minor, they agreed to waive their parental rights at Jack's demand, and they severed all ties with me. They were told never to come see me, never to petition for my release, and never to speak of what happened. Jack believed that I had killed someone. He told me that here, they could help someone like me. At first, I thought maybe he was right: that I needed to be here, since I'd hurt Derek. That maybe it was all my fault and I should have to serve time for it. But I soon realized it's not a sentence like yours. It's a life sentence meant to keep me here, away from everyone. Sometimes, I forget that part. But when I think about it… I never even got to take the aptitude test, never chose a faction. I've just been here, all this time."

I unclench my fists.

"So, when you asked where I'd go if I got out...I don't know. I don't have anywhere to go, and I never will. I couldn't just walk back into Candor and start over."

Her smile is gone now and she chew the sides of her cheek.

"I finally realized that I'll die before I ever get out of here. I'd never really looked at it that way, since I'd always tried to make the best of it. The first few years I was in here were awful. I don't remember much of them, but I remember telling everyone what happened. I screamed for them to let me out, to tell everyone the truth. It got worse when Owen showed up. He sort of went mad with guilt over what happened, but no one would listen and Jack didn't want him spreading that around Candor. So, he stuck him in here with me. But once he was here, I couldn't handle it. Seeing him daily brought me back to that moment, every single day. I could barely look at him, and I couldn't be on the same floor as him. So, I asked to speak to Jack or my family, and in return, I was given a lot of stuff to keep quiet: sedatives, electrotherapy, isolation. The best they found was large doses of peace serum. They found that it made me tired, and quiet, unwilling to speak about such negative things. Pretty soon I just stopped talking, and they'd sometimes ease up on the dose. By the time I was twenty, I'd come to accept it as my new life. I followed along with what they asked, and I learned how to stay off their radar. Some of them worked to make it better. Dr. Erin gave me the most privileges she could, and she told me I had more freedom than others. I was allowed a lot of things other patients weren't. But, I feel like I've earned them."

"Violet…"

"It's okay." She smiles miserably, her gaze stuck out in the distance. "I did kill him. I didn't mean to, but I did. When you got here, there was something in me that just snapped the same way it did when I attacked Derek. You were so furious with the doctors here, so unwilling to go along with what they wanted. I knew that feeling. You made me want to be free. After a few days of seeing you, I knew that I had to try to find a way to get out. That there has to be someplace, somewhere I could go. Pete said I could maybe go to Amity. He said I could tell them what happened and they'd let me stay. He said it's easy to get lost in there, or that maybe his family would let me stay with them if I explained what happened."

"Does everyone know why you're here?" I ask her tightly, and I have to force myself to stay seated. "And is Pete planning on leaving? Does he know where Amity is from here?"

"He says he does," she answers, sounding slightly more optimistic than before. "And yeah. He said he's had enough of being in here. Yesterday, he talked about how he misses being home and how he'd even be willing to work with his family again."

"Fantastic," I tell her, and she looks over at me. "Violet, tell me that everyone who knows what happened has told you that it was wrong. Tell me that these…doctors are aware of what's gone on."

"They are," she answers simply. "I have told them. They said there's nothing they could do. They just go with it because…because they can do whatever they want with us. They can practice on us, inject us, experiment however they please. Bobby's had his brain wiped twice. He can't remember that he tried to kill his entire family in a fit of rage. Bella can't remember that she's been given so many diagnoses that they just keep giving her stuff to take, hoping something will work. Pete's been in isolation for two weeks, far longer than anyone else. It just depends on the doctor and how they feel that day. They used to threaten me with the brain wiping treatment, but they stopped when it didn't stick as well as they'd hoped. There's a newer version they've been working on, and I'm sure they'll want to test it out soon. That's why… I want to get out of here. Even if I'm only out for a while, I want to know what it's like before I won't remember."

"Fuck." I snarl the word. She looks startled, not by my choice answer, but by the way I stand up abruptly.

"Violet…"

She stares up at me curiously, holding my stare as I stand over her, fighting down the irrational thoughts of going to find Dr. Branger, grasping her by the throat to cut off her air supply and trying to reprogram her brain myself. I want to see how she likes it, to have the threat of having your whole self erased, all because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"This is bullshit. All of it. You shouldn't be in here. That sentence…that's not even…he had no right." I bark the words at her, knowing I'm not exactly telling her anything new. I'm just simply reminding her of how unfair the whole thing is. I want to tell her she needs to fight, she needs to come with me, clawing her way out of this place every chance she gets. That this is no life here, and that accepting their sentencing is defeat, and she's better than that.

"Have your parents ever come here? Did anyone…ever visit? Or follow up?"

I think back to Bella's words, how no one has ever come to see Violet, and she confirms them by shaking her head.

"No. Jack made them promise they'd never step foot in here. They could have tried, but they didn't. And there's no one else to know I'm gone."

"How did they explain where you went?" I hiss, and the anger tastes bitter in my mouth. I find myself growing furious at Jack's blatant abuse of his power, and at the fact that these so called doctors are able to do as they please. "Didn't anyone notice that you just disappeared?"

"I don't know," she tells me, her voice nothing but honesty and hurt. "I can only assume they said I got sick…or maybe I ran away on my own. Maybe people thought I was factionless? No one's ever told me how they handled it."

"This is—" I stop, catching sight of Kenan watching with a knowing stare. He nods and smiles, waving me towards him. But his smile isn't happy, it's one that tells me he knows what we're talking about, and he's looked out for Violet for a long time.

I just hope he still will.

"Insane?" Violet stands up, locks eyes with me, unblinking, and I realize there's not a hint of irony in her words. She shrugs her shoulders, her gaze turning back to the never-ending forest, and her head drops down.

"Yeah, I know."

 

I say goodbye in her room.

The air is warm and heavy, barely-there sunlight filtering in through her window. It all seems wrong; the lights flicker every once in a while, and the floor seems uneven. Maybe it is. Maybe I've never noticed. A prickle of paranoia flashes over me as my head is filled with the thought that maybe none of this is real. Maybe my brain's already been wiped clean. Maybe—

"Will you come back and visit? Even…even just once?"

She stands in front of me, pushing her hair out of her eyes, the pieces chopped up and not staying where she wants them to. When she stares at me, I'm hit with the sickening awareness that I've never noticed that she's pretty in a startling way. That she isn't what I'd normally find myself staring at from across the Pit, but she's beautiful in a way I haven't seen before.

I swallow thickly.

"Or, will you promise that you won't forget me? If you don't come back here, that you'll remember who I was? Maybe…maybe I'll see you again, sometime. Out there."

Her words are so full of hope, so optimistic, that I feel nauseous as I fumble for her with nothing to say. I roughly yank her against me, my nails digging into her exposed skin. I find my mind frantic, pleading with me to just give in, to give her what she wants.

This isn't it, but it's all I can do.

My hand finds her lower back, and even through her shirt I can tell she's cold. She looks up at me, and I realize her eyes aren't black, but brown.

"I'll…"

My forehead touches hers, the action so disgustingly juvenile that I half expect myself to forget how to breathe in some clichéd reaction to being so close to her. I can feel her hands resting on my chest, one of them sliding up and looping around my neck, and she frowns.

The whole event is laughable. I'm sure to anyone looking in, they'd think that this is the moment that will change my life. That this moment is the one that means I'll break her out of here, that I'll valiantly kill Jack and rectify this situation, that I'll ride off into the sunset with her, taking her with me into the paradise that awaits us, saving the day and allowing myself to be happy for once. I struggle with it all, the same sickening sinking conclusion that in here, I am powerless. Against them and against her.

I'm stupid to think that I could save her.

I'm stupid to think that I'd want to save her.

I'm stupid because I do want to.

I give in when her nose touches mine, her fingers digging into my hair and my own fingers twisting the fabric of her shirt. I need to remember that I've never been powerless, at least not against them. I can get out of here, I can deal with Jeanine, I can deal with Jack. It's dealing with Violet that will be harder, knowing I've left her behind, with only a faint promise to fix things.

It's when her lips finally touch mine, cold and soft, that I realize she's never asked me to save her.

I don't say goodbye.

 

"Sit in the middle."

The orderly that walks me out looks suspicious. He should, for I'm being taken away under the guise of some medical necessity, but I'm walking out with him. I'd refused a wheelchair, feeling fine enough to walk, but quickly realized I was still short of breath. So, that meant we walked slowly, far slower than he liked, while I smirked alongside him. I wasn't handcuffed, and I can only assume that they found me to be too weak and pathetic to fight them off.

I made sure to stay quiet, because I wanted my hands free.

I let them guide me out, each one so close to me that they bumped into me as we walked, one with his hand on my arm. I let them prod me forward, until I saw the truck, almost identical to the one that had brought me here. They aren't incredibly kind as they push me forward a step. One opens the door and the other signs off on a clipboard, not even looking up at the guard. I climb into the truck awkwardly, sliding into the middle of the back seat, keeping my stare forward. I'm tempted to look upwards, to scan the windows looking for her, but I can't bring myself to see her face.

I'd left her in her room, unable to say anything.

"He's in."

The orderly slams the door shut without so much as another look in my direction. The driver walks around the side of the truck, nodding and waving them off. A second later they slide into the seat, the dark blue uniform out of place amongst the white.

"Are we leaving?" I snap, unwilling to sit here any longer. I'm growing impatient, an itchy feeling that makes me wants to tear my skin off, and I have to bite down on my cheek to keep it from taking over.

The driver nods, waiting for something. Once the orderlies have retreated back to the doors to await our departure, she turns around and stares directly at me.

Maybe it was the heavy anxiety that had settled in my stomach, or maybe it was the faint lingering memory of Violet's face when I'd stepped away, or maybe it was the fact that my chest did hurt, but I'd failed to notice that my driver was a familiar face, one I hadn't expected to see again so soon.

"Buckle up, Eric. It's a bumpy ride back to Dauntless."

Tori shrugs the heavy blue jacket off, tossing it to the passenger seat beside her. She smiles widely at me in the rearview mirror and locks the truck before taking off.

The hospital looms in the rearview mirror the entire time, until the heavy gates open up for Tori and she drives through them with a smug grin. Then it's gone, the sanitarium vanishing the same way it had appeared when they brought me here.

Out of nowhere.


	15. Dauntless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in Dauntless, Eric deals with the aftermath of spending time in the institution. Violet's fate is revealed, and Eric struggled to come up with a decision about what to do next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Happy Sunday everybody! To everyone who's recently started following this story, sorry for the long wait between chapters! The next one shouldn't be so super long :) Thanks to everyone for your patience, and thank you so much to BK2U for editing this for me.

Everything is dark.

After what feels like forever in a dimly-lit mental institution, Dauntless should seem downright fluorescent. Instead, ancient blue lights flicker off and on as I navigate through the rocky walkways, and the few spots with natural lighting seem dulled, covered up by something I can't see from the inside. The walls seem sharper, more menacing and dirty. Shadows seem to stretch and grow every time I turn my head, and the lighting in my apartment feels like someone's dialed it down a few watts just to fuck with me.

It feels unreal. I spent so long nearly tasting freedom, and now that I have it, I find myself feeling like I'm not really here. No longer under the steely watch of the orderlies or the intense gaze of doctors plotting my next treatment, I can come and go wherever and whenever I want, though my mind keeps trying to warn me it's a trap. I left the asylum with a sticky, paranoid feeling, one that crept in when things became silent. It hit hard when I realized I no longer had a schedule to adhere to, that there would be no overcooked meals slammed in front of me or mandatory therapy sessions that made me want to vomit up my words. Just my own empty apartment, my own bleak reflection staring back at me in the mirror, and my own dark wardrobe filling my dresser.

Today, I stride through Dauntless with my arms behind my back and my chin jutting forward. The dark, heavy vest I threw over my shirt feels odd and uncomfortable; maybe it's the disappointing realization that my chest still hurts and my breathing still feels labored, or maybe it's the unrelenting feeling that I've missed something. I pause at the top of the stairs, the ache so hot that I fear it's not real, and I end up clenching my jaw down hard enough that I'm surprised my teeth don't crack.

I bypass the guards, trivial patrolmen happy with their lives here, never thinking about anything beyond what they've been told to think. I walk past them with an unimpressed sneer twisting across my face and no actual destination in mind. Compared to my floor of the institution I'd been living in, Dauntless is immense; the twisting caverns are endless, the Pit is wall-to-wall with writhing members, and I swear the ground undulates under my boots as I walk.

I swallow heavily as the loud noise seems to settle into the depths of my brain, hurting even as the sounds lessen.

I've been back for three days.

Three sleepless nights.

Seventy-two hours of trying to adjust back to this place. Seventy-two hours without anyone monitoring how or where I slept. Seventy-two hours of forcing myself not to think about my time away from here.

I narrow my eyes as I walk past a few familiar faces, pleased when they scatter at the sight of me, wide-eyed and frantic as their stares sweep over me.

They're learning that the rumors of where I've been, so deliciously disturbing and horrifying, are very true.

 

 

Tori gives me space.

I'd expected her to be all over my ass to head out, guns blazing and a plan in place. She'd told me she had her own reasons for wanting Jeanine dead, so I was surprised when she didn't immediately attempt to get started the second we walked through the entryway of Dauntless. On the drive back to the compound, she'd handed me my phone and told me she'd keep in touch, her tone hinting that I'd see her sooner than later.

Killing Jeanine was of urgent importance, so my guess was that the ensuing quiet was due to Tori realizing that I was more injured than she'd been expecting. We had stopped at the infirmary on our way into Dauntless. Helena had checked out my surgical site and pronounced it quite acceptable and healing well. She'd wanted me to stay overnight just to be safe, but I'd declined rather forcefully. Tori decided to escort me back to my apartment, and as we walked, she told me the basics about how she got me out. I'd blinked at her in surprise when she informed me that Bella, the very reason for why it hurts now to take a deep breath, was the one who'd been given orders to stab me.

"She was only supposed to hurt you enough that Jeanine would want you out of there. I told Bella to aim to the right, even lower, so she would bypass any major organs. Maybe hit your spleen or something. Something you could live without." Tori's clipped tone was almost a whisper as she walked beside me. "I didn't think she'd be so… ambitious."

Tori had smiled apologetically in response. She stopped when we arrived at my apartment door and looked up at me. "I hope you're feeling better soon. Get some rest, and we'll discuss this further when I see you next."

I'd nodded at her curtly and closed the door without looking back.

On the fourth day, Tori seemed to have reached the limits of her patience; I found her waiting outside my door. She explained to me that she'd be joining me since we both have the same leadership meeting to attend. On the slow walk over, she explained the rest of her plan, and I had to give her credit for thinking it through.

I was surprised to learn that Bella was a disgraced member of the Dauntless faction, and the only remaining family member Tori had left. She had worked as one of our patrol soldiers at the furthest post, one at which our soldiers stay for weeks at a time. At best, Bella was unimportant and easy to overlook, but the long hours, lack of sleep, and a healthy dose of craziness had led her to attack some of the guards she worked with. Repeatedly. They moved her, time after time, unwilling to give up a warm body that filled a spot not many wanted. After a more brutal attack, she was given two weeks off, per protocol, and was furious to discover she had been demoted.

She didn't handle it very well. One quiet day, poor Bryce had no clue she was even coming after him. He was no one important, simply a soldier she'd worked with on a different patrol, but before he knew it, she had taken him down and dragged him from the Pit by his hair, proceeding to nearly kill him. They found him unconscious, barely breathing, along with Bella, who was covered in blood. He died hours later, and to the horror of our medical staff, Bella was strangely calm.

I'd never bothered to pay even a single ounce of attention to the fiasco. I hadn't been a leader all that long when it happened, but I eventually heard about the incident. The report had been slapped on my desk months later, having been treated as nothing more than a minor occurrence in a routine report on factional safety. Had I known her at the time, I would have found her to be little more than a rogue soldier, driven mad, and now useless to us. I would have barely looked up from my own work upon hearing the news that she was found not guilty after a plea of insanity, perhaps grunting my displeasure that she hadn't been executed. It was by the grace of Max — and the hotly embarrassing petitioning from her cousin, Tori — that she was sentenced to time in the Sanitarium.

With the understanding that she'd never return to Dauntless.

The original diagnosis they gave her made sense. Something in her had snapped, causing her to hallucinate, to quite frequently believe she was hearing voices, and to eventually become perpetually violent. They didn't think they could fix her, but they could keep her away from society so she was no longer a threat. Devastated that her cousin wasn't fixable, Tori kept an eye on her from afar, often making anonymous arrangements to make sure Bella stayed alive and wasn't being treated too terribly. It made her feel better, sort of soothing the pain of seeing her only family wind up there, even though Tori knew there was nothing she could do.

For a while, things were okay. Tori got scheduled updates on her, pleased with her progress. Then the inconsistencies began, and eventually, Tori realized that Bella wasn't ever going to get better or really be taken care of. There was nothing Tori could do to change that, and so she tried to put the whole mess behind her.

But my stint there ripped the scab right off of Tori's mostly-healed wound.

News of my stay had traveled across Dauntless, and it forced Tori to think about Bella, locked up and dreaming of broomsticks and warlocks and cold-blooded murder. I'm sure she must have panicked, realizing Jeanine was really in control of the sanitarium since she'd insisted on having me committed there. That meant Bella wasn't really under the care of the asylum, but at the mercy of Jeanine. One day she'd be used, just like the rest of them, as a test subject for whatever Jeanine was working on. Surely, there was no way she wouldn't end up as a lab rat, because not a single soul other than Tori would notice or care that she was gone.

It had taken Tori mere minutes to decide that this might be her chance to save her cousin, and maybe even give her some sort of redemption. It had little to do with me, although my help in taking down Jeanine would feel like some sort of justice for her.

Of course, Tori wasn't well-versed in the layout of the mental institution. She had limited knowledge about what went on there, but it only took scrounging up blueprints, a visit under the guise of being my fiancée, and the bribery of one semi-lucid Bella to set her plan in action. It wouldn't matter if Bella failed along the way, she only needed her to attack me, to get me separated from the group and have me wind up injured enough to need medical treatment elsewhere. She'd get me out of there, force my hand in helping her, and we'd be even.

It seemed foolproof.

Knowing her cousin could fight, the attack was Tori's idea.

The scissors were Bella's.

It was easy to convince her; Tori made it sound appealing, because after all, Bella got to stab me. She told her she'd work to get her stable, maybe even to the point where she'd be free. Visions of Dauntless must have danced through her mind, an unobtainable privilege seeming very obtainable now. It was laughable, because anyone who spent five minutes with Bella knew she was one hundred percent nuts, but desperate for her old life back, she went for it.

She became a model patient.

She lowered their defenses, one by one, until they thought she was doing alright.

After a week of routinely taking her medication, Bella was alright. In fact, she had been feeling fine. It explained her coherent state when she mocked me for not telling Violet I had a fiancée, and it explained why she was trusted enough that she wasn't being watched very carefully. To the delight of the staff, Bella was golden. She was normal. She didn't speak of warlocks in air vents, nor did she scream for her husband that never existed. She'd earned enough of her privileges back to attend her art class, and while there, she lifted the shears when the lone, overworked art teacher wasn't looking.

Stabbing me deeply, with the intent to harm, had been her own idea. It was fueled by a delirium that even Tori couldn't attempt to justify. The day she sat beside me, the anger and rage that had always been pushed deep down burst forth, prompting Bella to attack when Violet panicked. In that moment, she took it out on me, rationalizing it to herself that since I'd worn the same uniform as the men who'd put her here, I deserved it.

It made sense, I suppose.

After they stabilized me, Tori was notified of the attack on me, having been added to my emergency contact list as my fiancée. She hung up from the call quickly, knowing she now had little time to make her plan work.

Luckily for her, she was ready. For days she'd been on edge, waiting for this exact phone call. She'd already taken my password and logged in as me, and with the help of the only person I could possibly hate more than Bella, created a program that allowed them to remotely access Jeanine's computer. Computer coding wasn't a strong skill our faction possessed, so that was where Four came in. Turns out that after years in the control room, he'd become skilled at hacking into the systems. Maybe he'd learned it out of sheer boredom, or maybe there were some other sketchy reasoning, but whatever it was, it worked.

Even worse, beyond having access to years of emails and notes, Four discovered Jeanine had minimal security software in place, and Dauntless had even less.

It felt embarrassing. I cringed when she told me this, wondering just how many of my own files had been intercepted. How many amateur hackers had access to our sensitive information. Our war plans. Access codes. Memos and agendas not meant for the other factions to see.

Once he had the access he wanted, Four easily and irritably realized that all along, I had been an integral part of Jeanine's plans. Within minute of snooping through my laptop, he found that I had been given a high-level security clearance on every single one of Jeanine's programs, all for the sake of utilizing whatever data I wanted. It only made his job easier. Within an hour, he was able to make sure he had intercepted all of Jeanine's main forms of communication and had the emails forwarded to an incognito dummy address. With some bribing from Tori, and no doubt some bargaining on Four's part, they'd sent Dr. Branger a few emails regarding my status and had me transferred right into Tori's hands.

Jeanine was none the wiser.

Tori concludes her story there, but just as we reach the doorway to the conference room, she announces cheerfully, "Four wants to see you, you know. I'm sure he's wondering what happened in there. I was thinking maybe we'd go see him and thank him for his help…"

"Tell him to fuck off or come see me himself," I snap, drawing the stares of Harrison and Max. Both of them look nervous when I walk in and sit down, and Harrison pales considerably when I hold his gaze.

I roll my eyes hard enough to invoke a headache, or maybe that's from being forced to sit here and pretend I don't want to kill Max and Harrison. Four had emailed them as well, pretending to be Jeanine, with strict instructions to act like everything was fine so I would assimilate back into my normal routine without much fanfare. Too bad the two of them didn't realize my list was growing with every passing day, and they were both on it.

Luckily for them, I needed to make sure I had my shit in order; I needed to deal with Jack first, then I'd take out Jeanine, and then — and this was the hardest part of all — I'd have some decisions to make regarding the asylum. Never in my life did I think I'd take a moral stance on how these patients should be treated, but suddenly, here I am. Sitting here, staring at my coffee and wondering what Violet is doing.

Or if she's still alive.

"Eric, you uh, your thoughts on…the border safety of…Amity."

Max is having a hard time speaking or looking at me. His voice drops off at the end for a few reasons. He knows I don't give two shits about Amity, but he also knows something is wrong. I haven't spoken to him since I've been back, and I haven't brought up that he watched me being taken away and locked up and failed oh-so-spectacularly at getting me out. He currently looks sweaty, his forehead shiny even in this poorly-lit room, and I have to admit I get a great deal of joy from seeing that Harrison shares his same nervousness.

"You uh, you want to check out Amity? There was a report there the other day…on that uh…there was some suspicious activity..." He trails off again, growing even more uneasy in my presence.

I smile at both of them, raising up one eyebrow and making sure they are both looking right at me, and I sit up perfectly straight. I make sure my smile is nasty, beyond condescending at their stupidity, and pleased at their transparent panic.

It'll be satisfying to get rid of them both.

"You know what, I'd be more than happy to check out Amity. Sign me up. One of you can come along with me," I answer smoothly, watching as Max recoils.

He eventually nods, but neither of them smiles back.

 

 

"What the hell is wrong with you? You look like shit."

On day six or seven, Tori pointedly asks me this polite question, sliding a beer towards me, across my own coffee table. I glower at her, wondering at what point she decided we were friendly enough to hang out, but then again, I had opened the door to let her in here. I'd been hoping she was coming with some information I'd asked for, but the only thing she'd brought were drinks and annoyance.

"What do you want?" I snap, reclining back onto the dark couch. "All I asked for was the report on Jack. Not a social call."

"Don't be an ass," she snaps back, and I bite the inside of my cheek so I don't sucker punch her right in the face. "I have your precious information. But I wanted to see how you were doing. You've been back for more than a few days, and yet you still look just as miserable as you did the last time I saw you."

"This is how I look every day," I point out, taking a swig of the beer, regretting it immediately. "This tastes like shit, by the way."

She stares at me for a long time before she takes a long sip of her own drink.

"It was all they had." She pauses, and I know I'll dislike what she's about to say. "Look, I wanted to talk to you, leader to leader. I know you were there for a while and I know you shouldn't have been. But the last time I talked to her, Bella hinted that you were sort of close to one of the patients there. I thought maybe that was part of the reason you looked so unhappy. I was wondering if you wanted to know how she's doing."

"Fuck off." I slam my beer down so hard that I'm surprised the table doesn't shatter. "Is that why you're here? To find out if I miss the mental patients?"

"I know not all of them belong in there," Tori answers slowly. "Some do, sure. I certainly know what Bella's capable of. But I know that some of them, like the one she mentioned, aren't in there for the right reasons. And the information you asked for tells me that."

I stare at her, waiting for her to back down as my pulse increases. The feeling is similar to the one I get right before I rip someone's head off, but I'm too tired to kill Tori at this exact moment. So I stay silent, and after ages of waiting, Tori gives in, but just a bit. She holds her palms up and smiles in a way that's supposed to be non-threatening.

"As your fiancée, let me say that I understand. I don't blame you for bonding with any sane person you could find in there. As another leader here, let me agree with you that there's some shady shit that goes on in that place."

"Funny," I answer dryly.

"It's not a terrible thing to be close to someone. Especially someone who isn't crazy," Tori continues, and I realize I'll have to tell her something or she'll never shut up.

"They're working on a way to wipe everyone's minds," I finally mutter, feeling thrown off that she seems to know more than I do. "They can experiment on the patients there because they aren't important to anyone. No one will ever notice what happens to them, nor will they care. They break them down until they're just a body to work on. Some won't recover, but some know what's going on. All of them have no way out. Jeanine has a whole hospital full of people to pick from."

She nods. "I know. I found out the hard way that they aren't really helping them. When I would follow up with Bella, they'd always have some strange reason for why she wasn't any better. Or why she hadn't responded to their treatments. Not that I expected her to ever leave, but you'd expect some improvement. I finally realized that the only way people leave there is if they're deceased."

I stay silent. I lean forward, picking up the beer bottle and I stare at the label until it blurs before my eyes. Her words aren't remotely helpful, especially now.

"Have you slept, Eric?"

Tori's voice jars me back to the apartment, back to the worn couch I'd had for ages, back to the faint concern behind her stare. I shake my head as I set the bottle back down.

"No. Maybe an hour here or there. I'm fine."

"You aren't fine." She presses her lips together. "I need you… look, I need you coherent when you take down Jeanine. We'll only have one chance. You need to be—"

"I can kill her. Sleep or no sleep," I answer, but I recline back and shut my eyes. "She'll get what she deserves. They all will."

"Eric," Tori says my name, quietly and kindly. "If you want, I can call. I can have Bella look out for her… maybe make sure they leave her alone until you can..."

"Until I can what? Save the day? Bring her here?" I ask flatly. "Have her live in Dauntless? Wouldn't that be quite the sight?"

"She'd be safe here. It would be easy to just let her blend in. No one is going to question you," Tori very generously suggests, and I let out a bark of laughter.

"Right."

"But you've thought of it, haven't you?" Tori pushes, and to my horror, she sounds just like Dr. Erin. "You've wondered what it would be like to save her, because you know she could stay here. And you and I both know she probably can't sleep either, knowing that you're gone and she's stuck."

"Fuck off, Tori." My eyes fly open, and I sit up ready to let her have it. My hands clench into fists, but the look on her face stops me.

"I saw her there. I know who she is. She was waiting for you when I was visiting. She looked… sane. Too sane to be there."

"She is," I mutter, and I press my palms against my eyes. The world swirls to darkness, and I could stay there forever, except I can hear Tori breathing.

"Eric…" she prods me, and I finally give in, realizing I have nothing left to lose at this point.

Again.

"Violet. Her name is Violet."

 

 

The report is long.

I read it quickly, scanning it while I lie in bed, trying hard to pretend it would be easy for me to just set it down and go to sleep.

But I can't, especially now. The report has been sent to Jeanine in response to her request, and I'm sure Four had a field day typing up that email. But I don't care. I read everything that they've sent, finally setting it down on the nightstand beside my bed and closing my eyes and preparing to lie here for a long time while sleeps evades me.

The news isn't good, but it isn't surprising.

 

 

"So they're keeping her mostly sedated? And you don't agree with that, correct?"

Four stares at me like he's seeing a ghost. He looks normal, aside from the unease that radiates off him every time I shift in my seat. I wonder if he's curious about the asylum, or wondering if I enjoyed my stay there, or if he's just being nosy since now he's involved in this little scheme with no way out.

"Would you like to be sedated daily? So you can't escape?" I ask him, sounding far ruder than I'd planned, but it is Four I'm talking to. In his defense, he's rightfully concerned since he's in this far too deep now, and I'm counting down the minutes before his worry for this person he's never even met kicks in.

"No. But if that's the case, then you'll need to do something soon. I'm not sure how long someone can safely be sedated, but I don't think we should continue running the program past this week. It won't be long before Jeanine starts to get suspicious. Her emails are coming in at a much slower rate than normal because I'm manually approving them to be sent on to her. But it's time consuming, and I do have a job I need to do," Four informs us, and I stare at the wall behind him.

Meeting with him had been Tori's idea. I hadn't protested because I had shit to figure out, but unfortunately, he's now an integral part of this process. I need to decide who to kill first, but I also need to make sure Violet stays alive. Sedating her daily isn't great, but the report hinted that she's next in line for some other things after they realized she wasn't good with being left behind. Dr. Branger's notes state she's lost all her progress, and if things stay the way they are, she'll make an excellent test subject.

I have no doubt this is their way of reinstating control over the patients.

"Are you bringing them here?"

I look back, realizing Four is still talking to me. I hadn't been listening to him, for my mind was miles away. I was thinking that I didn't have long, maybe another few days, before I'd run out of time.

"I think I need to take care of Jack first. I need to make him pay for what he did, and then I can take care of Jeanine," I bark at him, not really enjoying the way he stares at me out of the side of his eye. He sighs, probably for dramatic effect, and I cross my arms over my chest.

"The girl, not Jack. I know you want to make him pay for sentencing her there, but I need to know what you're doing with the girl. Is she coming here?"

"Do you have a better plan, Four?" I say his name nastily, leaning back in my seat. "Is there something I'm missing?"

"Yeah, there is." He sits up and looks over at Tori. "If you push him to change his ruling, isn't Jeanine going to take an interest in the fact that Jack's suddenly changed his mind on a case that's over a decade old? Especially seeing as how you're there, and…"

"She won't have time," I interrupt, and I force myself to remember I need him for a few more days. "I'll get Jack to take back the orders and then I'll kill him. I'll leave his office, Tori and I will proceed to Erudite, and I'll kill Jeanine. I take the orders with me, and we appoint someone in Jeanine's place. Someone we can form an alliance with. Someone with a vested interest in Dauntless. They can oversee the asylum from there on out."

Four doesn't look impressed.

"Fine. And the girl?"

"Why are you so obsessed with this girl?" I snarl, leaning forward. "Why do you need to know what's happening to her? You don't even know her."

"I'm just confused why you're so hellbent on getting her out of there. She's the only one you've mentioned leaving. Where is she going to go? Tori told me she needed me to help get you out of there, and now I'm helping get this… Violet person out of there. I should know if you're letting them all out, whether she's coming here, or whatever else you're planning to do."

"Why? You want me to bring her by so you two can hang out?" I snap and Tori's hand flies to my arm.

I shove her away from me without looking.

"Eric, knock it off. He's just asking you a question. You had him send for information about her. He has every right to be concerned. But you realize this has to go just like you're planning it, or we're fucked, right? That if they figure out what you're planning on doing, they'll kill Violet or wipe her brain and we'll be in some deep shit when Max catches wind of this."

"I'm not scared of Max finding out. What is he going to do? Send me back there? Send all of us there?" I glare at her, and she glares back, until Four clears his throat.

"Are you planning on killing Max, too? Does anyone survive this?" Four demands, and Tori snorts.

"We didn't discuss killing Max. But don't worry, he won't kill you, Four," she promises, her grip tightening on my arm. "Right, Eric?"

"Sure," I smile at him in mock enthusiasm, raising both eyebrows. "You help me get Violet out of there, I won't kill you. Deal?"

"This is sounding great. I'm forced to help you, or you'll kill me and no one will try to stop you. And if you two get caught, then this can be traced back to me, and I can also be killed. It's a win-win for me, isn't it?" He glares at me, and I roll my eyes.

"Then you shouldn't have helped in the first place," I remind him. I decide I'm done with this meeting when he protests that he didn't want to help. "Look, just keep Jeanine busy for a day. I'll take care of both of them tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Tori looks up in surprise, and I nod my head.

"Yes, tomorrow. We've wasted enough time. Tomorrow we take them both down. I make sure Violet's alive, take care of Max and Harrison, and you two can run Erudite for all I care." I stand up, reaching for the phone in my pocket. "I'll meet you in the morning. Wait for my call."

"Eric, wait. We need to plan this out… we need more time. You need to tell me what you're doing!"

Tori yells the words after me, but I ignore her. I want to scream that I don't have more time and neither does she if she really thinks about it, but I stay silent. I stomp out of the tiny office Tori had arranged for us to meet in, and I keep going until I find the stairs. I take them two at time, stopping when I reach the upper levels.

Members scatter as I walk by. A few look at me, but I ignore them, walking a bit further until I'm sure I'm alone.

I pull out the phone when I'm sure I have reception, and I dial the number that Tori had written on the report. It takes a second to connect, the connection spotty even though I'm not that far underground, and the receptionist who picks up is annoyingly cheerful for someone working in a mental hospital. I lie easily, giving the name of a doctor in Erudite that I had seen as a child, and I'm not all surprised when it works. She tells me to hold, and I wait until she transfers me. I try to remain patient, though it's hard with their painfully slow phone system.

A few seconds later, I hear her say hello, her voice slow and drugged as Violet struggles to stay awake — until the phone abruptly disconnects.


	16. Thank you for your Candor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric and an unlikely accomplice head out to deal with Jack Kang. Violet's fate is revealed, and Eric must come to terms with needing the help of others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to buried-in-books for your help with this chapter!
> 
> Thanks for editing AND for your hilarious notes ;)
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's been patiently waiting for this chapter. I know this took a second, but I think this chapter is definitely worth it. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far and followed this story. I know this one will leave you with a few questions, but they'll get answered, promise! Bonus points if you can guess where they're going at the end :)

One afternoon, when the air outside wasn't entirely horrific to be in, and the majority of the mental patients were stable, Violet and I had sat on the fire escape watching the sunset.

It felt grossly cliché, but our brief time out there hadn't been half bad. She sat next to me, her leg touching mine as she messed with this thread she'd taken with her from the art room. I watched her plaiting the strands together—black, black, then white—over under over, again and again, section by section, smiling every so often. The pattern she was making was strangely soothing to watch, and it was oddly disappointing when she was knotting the ends together.

"What do you think?" She held it up, her head cocked to the side and her nose wrinkled. "The last one I made looked better."

"It's fine."

I'd answered her offhandedly, short and indifferent, but my mind had struggled to come up with something that wasn't completely impolite. There was no part of me that would ever want to sit here, watching her make a friendship bracelet for people who couldn't even understand the concept of friendship while I could be elsewhere. It had made me feel old, too tired and worn out to protest that I'd even been forced to participate in such an activity.

But even worse, I felt dismayed that I had zero desire to stand up and head inside.

She had done this to me.

She had neatly woven this strange, tethered sensation that made me want to stick close to her. When I thought of it that way, she was just one more person exuding their control over me, keeping me anchored here, right next to her, but I couldn't shake why.

Why I couldn't leave, and why I didn't.

"Did you make one?" Violet had asked me, her voice still low. She had lost some of the quietness that she'd had when I first arrived, though not all of it. When it did disappear, I was rewarded with glimpses of the girl she was before she was dragged here. These glimpses were fleeting, probably the same way my own moments of quietness were, but they were clear to me. "Eric?"

I was struggling that day, the ever-persistent frustration spilling over all of my thoughts. In group therapy, the topic of standing up for yourself had come up, and Dr. Erin had used Violet as an example. She never directly stated her name, but with the way the silence hung in the air, and how every eyeball had turned to face Violet, it supplied enough of a hint to know who she was talking about. Towards the end of the longest hour of my life, the man next to me had kicked Violet's chair to get her attention. He then loudly told her: 'You'll get through this, girl. Or you won't and we'll continue on without you.'

I had frowned. No one should have been calling her a girl, for she wasn't some child, yet it was hard to think of her outside of these walls. I had felt itchy thinking of her in Candor, thinking that she could have had a normal life had she not been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I certainly didn't have a normal life, but at least that was my own choosing.

"Maybe I'll just throw it away."

I look down at her, my eyes falling to her dismayed expression.

I felt the prick of disappointment towards myself.

I didn't like the look on her face. She didn't deserve it. It was easy with her, sitting beside her as the evening stretched on. The only thing she ever wanted was my company, though sometimes, I thought she wanted more. I didn't know what she could possibly think I could offer. A way out? Maybe my help in aiding to right the wrongs that landed her here? Or maybe she saw some future that I didn't? Maybe I made her hopeful; that was laughable. I had nothing to give her, nothing more than anyone else in this shithole could.

But whatever her reasoning was, she had chosen me, and in a way, I had chosen her. I found that I was less when I was with her, but that wasn't a bad thing. I was less guarded, for I'd found myself telling her things I shouldn't. I found myself less annoyed, for she was the sanest person here, and she did keep me from going mad. I found myself less unwilling to acknowledge my own misery, and not just because she was a good distraction.

She made me feel something, even if the act was wretched and painful, and I hated it. I had pushed her away to try and stop it, thinking that she was clinging to me because I kept her grounded, but maybe it was the other way around.

Maybe I'd been clinging to her, the only good I'd ever come across.

"Nah, don't toss it. I didn't make one. I took a nap instead. What's-her-name didn't even notice."

"I bet she didn't. Bobby had her attention almost the entire hour. He and Aidy were fighting over who's bracelet was better." Violet laughed, the sound pleasant and ever-so-normal as the sun dipped lower.

"I'm sure they both looked awful. I swear Aidy made hers green and pink." I'd rolled my eyes, glad I had slept through most of the class. I'd had absolutely no desire to make sure an item, and luckily, no one had tried to force me to.

"Hey, do you want it? This one?"

She nudged my elbow, catching me off guard. I felt stupid, again because I didn't know how to answer her question. Did I want the string that she had knotted together? Not really. Yet for some reason rejecting the idea of it was worse than anything, so I wordlessly let her tie it around my wrist, the fabric cheap and rough.

"Thanks. It looks way better than the one Bobby made me." I told her lowly, my unfunny joke dying in the air between us. She was quiet as we sat, watching the sky turn dark, second by second. The last rays of the sun hung on as long as they could, trying hard to hold their place in the sky, but eventually, it became too much, and they gave up.

Everything turned black, and it wasn't long before Kenan arrived to remind us it's time for him to watch us brush our teeth.

 

 

"Did you, or did you not, sentence this girl to life in a mental institution with zero chance of release in order to cover up for Nile's son? And is it true that her sentencing came on the heels of an attack, prompted because she rejected his affection?"

I lean back in my chair, keeping my posture casual and my stare straight ahead while I await an answer from Jack Kang.

It doesn't come.

I shift in the seat. I examine my nails. I eye the laces on my boots. The room is silent as I cross my legs, my ankle resting on my knee, and I smile patiently at Jack.

He mimics me. He leans back in his chair, surprised at the papers I'd slid over to him. He feigned confusion at first, but I knew he recognized them. I saw his eyes narrow at her name, neatly typed beneath the Candor logo. His stare lingered at the bottom of the first page, his elegant signature still vibrant after all this time.

"You are talking about Violet, I'm assuming?" Jack speaks clearly, staring at the file on the glass table before him, disdain rushing over his face for a split second. Then it's gone, and in its place is a neutral, tight smile. "Eric, I have to confess that I find this whole meeting rather surprising. This is certainly not what I had in mind when you called. What you are presenting me with is a closed case. It was handled years ago. Probably before you would have had any interest in it. The girl at fault, Violet, was a child when she was brought before us. She was not of choosing age and after being questioned thoroughly, she was appropriately sentenced."

"You didn't answer my question." I reply easily. "I didn't ask if you were surprised to see this case return, but if you did, in fact, push this sentencing to cover up the error of your friend's son. Was the truth serum used on her?"

"No, there was no need for that. And we weren't covering anything up," Jack lies. To anyone else, he sounds sure of himself, confident in what he is saying. You'd have to look hard to see the discomfort creeping in, chipping away at his facade. He's not used to being questioned, especially by members of Dauntless over a case he personally presided over.

"Is there a reason you're bringing this before me now?" He tries to deflect again, pushing the papers away from him. "Like I said before, this case was closed years ago. The sentencing is fitting considering she killed a man. I'm sure the report you read told you the same information. As members of Dauntless, you'd uphold the same sort of protocol if something like this happened in your own faction."

"We would. Except Violet killed a man out of self-defense. We wouldn't lock someone up for defending their own life. Your report states that it was cold-blooded murder. It seems you've made an error in your ruling," I state and beside me, Four exhales sharply.

This meeting isn't going well, but I didn't think it would. I'd given Four and Tori a few hours notice to be ready, only hastily filling them in on what I had planned. I'd personally called Jack to arrange a meeting with him, and he'd easily agreed. There was no suspicion on his part; I simply told him I had some questions about a case he'd overseen, and I needed his input. Pleased as ever to be a part of any investigation, he'd cleared his schedule.

Next, I'd had Four turn the cameras off.

Not all of them, and not enough to be alarming, but the ones I wanted. The ones that would show me walking into Jack's office, and certainly the ones that would show me dragging his body out if it was necessary. Four had agreed, and I could only assume it was to cover his own ass. He was coming along with me, lessening the suspicion had I gone alone. I took a truck without checking it out under my name, swiping Harrison's badge that I'd lifted from the conference room, and smirking when I signed an ugly impression of his signature. I made sure we left at an odd time, during a patrol change where the newest members came on, and I'd called an alert into the control room to fix a few cameras in the furthest part of Dauntless, marking it urgent. It made sure that only one person was left in the control room, giving us a smaller chance of being noticed.

We'd ridden to Candor in silence.

I drove, and beside me sat Four, with the report files in his lap as he poured over them as though he might find something we needed. I could have told him not to waste his time, because it didn't matter. I was getting Violet out of there, one way or another, regardless of how this meeting went.

Tori followed behind us, having brought along a single friend for backup after telling me it wasn't negotiable. I could have put up a fight, but I didn't care. Getting what I wanted from Jack would be easy. Jeanine would be trickier and having some back up might be smart. Or it would be stupid. If she noticed a parade walking in, she might think something was up, and her security detail would be on us in an instant. But I didn't have time to argue with Tori, and if she wanted to risk her own life, so be it.

I'd left her and her friend outside, and only brought Four into Jack's office with me. We haven't been in here long, but Four seems just as irritated as I am.

"It was not self-defense. Her testimony determined so," Jack answers and he scrutinizes me. "Did you actually read through the report?"

"We were unable to find her testimony anywhere. Violet's version, what was written down on your report, is very abbreviated. She barely makes a statement. It's almost like she didn't actually give one before she was sentenced." Four looks at Jack, now fully invested in this situation.

"She gave one," Jack says and flexes his fingers out in front of him. "Like I said before, I'm not sure what this is about or why there is concern over it. Do you two know her?"

"There's also reason to believe her parents didn't know what they were signing when you asked them to give up their parental rights." Four takes the papers off the table and flips through them until he finds the page he's looking for. It's one near the back, with sloppy signature scrawled at the bottom. "Were they aware of the terms and conditions? Did they know they'd never see her again? It specifically states they're not to contact her at all. Why would that be necessary?"

"Yes, they were aware of what they were signing." Jack answers smoothly, but the tick of his shoulder tells me he's starting to sweat. "They were well aware what she had done was in disagreement with our laws and fully accepting of the outcome. She broke one of the factional rules and in turn she was sentenced. They agreed not to contact her because they gave up their rights to her."

"From what we've read, this seems like you didn't want her to have the chance to tell them anything about this incident," Four points out.

Jack clears his throat. "Protocol. Those found guilty of murder do not typically retain the normal, citizen privileges."

"Now what about this? We found that she was attacked by your friend's son and the assault is wiped clean from his records. When we looked up his name, nothing comes up except an award for employee of the month. Does he enjoying working with you? Did he have anything to say about the assault?" I cock an eyebrow at him, pleased when he shifts in his seat. He's slowly cracking because even he can't justify the evidence here.

"There was no assault..."

"We have proof, so you can cut the bullshit and tell us what happened to Derek," I interrupt, and I can see the moment Jack panics.

"He works elsewhere now." Jack's lips press together. "The girl… she uh… look he told us what we needed to hear. She had her turn to explain what was going on, and nothing came of it. We used what information we had to put together the case. We are not a faction that sees this sort of violence on a routine basis and we made a decision that we felt was fair for all involved."

"She was sentenced to life in the asylum at the age of fifteen. Do you really think that's fair?" I question, and Four nods his head.

"That seems like an awfully steep punishment for a minor who was only trying to stay alive," Four tells him, and he waits for Jack to look up. "You're a reasonable man. Can you tell me that was necessary? Life without parole? There was no better option?"

"Is murder reasonable? Do you think I should have let her walk freely?" Jack snaps, his irritation on full display now. "Now please, why is this being brought before me?"

"You sentenced a fifteen-year-old to life in a mental institution for an incident with very little evidence," Four retorts, causing Jack to drag his steely glare over to him. "You essentially sentenced a child, all because she tried to keep herself alive and didn't allow her to give a testimony. This seems to be a breach of what Candor stands for. I'd say they there's definite cause for us to be suspicious."

For a fleeting moment, I can appreciate the fact that I've brought him along with me.

Jack stares him down.

"It was more than that. She wasn't trying to stay alive. She murdered someone and wasn't even in a lucid state. Derek's story was all the evidence we needed. Violet was unable to provide any details that would have changed our decision otherwise." Jack stops and he sits up straighter. "I'll ask this one final time. Is there a reason that you two are here? Is there something going on? This case is of no relevance now. I can only assume that the girl is still there, serving her time. Or perhaps she's passed on. She was rather…out of it when they took her away."

"You let them take her away and you can't even be sure she was coherent? And yet you used whatever she said to you as her statement?" Four raises an eyebrow at him, disgust all over his face. "You locked up a child and you aren't at all concerned if she's alive or not?"

"She's no longer a child. But gentlemen, as much fun as this trip down memory lane has been, I have real work to do. You're both wasting my time. If there is real concern over this case, then please, enlighten me. If not, I will have to adjourn this meeting and wish you two luck in whatever it is you're looking for, but whatever that is, mark my words, you aren't going to find it through me."

"The security footage we pulled shows her being followed into the woods. Clearly trying to get away from someone. It shows Derek going after her and her being held against her will," I lazily inform him, cocking my head to the side.

Jack stiffens.

"What footage?"

"And, if such footage is true, well—that would mean what Derek told you wasn't entirely true, and that means you are covering something up here." I continue, enjoying the way he squirms. "So yes, Jack, there is a reason why we're investigating this. Because it seems pretty clear that you had a heavy hand in this case."

Jack is silent.

"Maybe we could bring Derek in here. See what he has to say?" I suggest, and Four nods.

"We should hear his side of the story before we proceed. You could help us with that, right? You did say you'd help with whatever we needed when we started," Four reminds him, and Jack blanches.

"I, uh, you'll have to give me a moment here. I'd have to pull his information. Find out where he's working…find out if he's..."

Jack stalls for time, flipping through the pages, looking for any shred of his lie to hang on to. I smirk when he glances at the door, for my own words are a total lie. Four hadn't been able to find any sort of security footage in Candor, especially not from so long ago. Our cameras were spotty and definitely not in the woods where Violet was assaulted. We didn't even save the footage for very long. Four had volunteered to search, saying he could find some grainy sections that may have worked in our favor, but I wasn't planning on showing Jack shit.

"That's not necessary," I tell him smoothly, and I stand up. Four follows suit, his stare still on Jack. "I think we're all well aware of what you did and how you can fix this."

"What is it that you want from me?" Jack hisses, and he looks up at the both of us. "What are you asking of me? I sentenced someone for a crime they committed. I looked out for my faction. Either of you would have done the same."

Four and I exchange a weighted glance, and at the slight nod of Four's head, I decide I'll thank him for his help on the way back.

Maybe.

Half an hour of paperwork later, prompted by a gun against his temple, Jack Kang resigns as Leader of Candor.

 

 

"You aren't gonna kill him? You're just gonna let him walk free? That shit ain't right."

Tori's companion growls the words around the cigarette in his mouth, watching me with his beady eyes. He is tall and broad, and I would bet he packed a mean punch. He's visibly disappointed as he watches Jack walk by. He looks rough now, disheveled as he stalks past us, throwing me one long, dark stare as he heads towards the trucks. He looks back at us once, nastily, before he makes the idiotic decision to keep going.

I'd given him a few options.

He'd refused to sign the papers to order Violet's release, but with a little prompting, he'd given in. He'd then made a phone call, explaining to the head of admissions that he would be there soon to discuss Violet's status and to have her ready for release.

Judging from his extreme unwillingness to explain anything over the phone, I'm sure we are about to walk into a shitshow.

"How much can you lift?" I ask the man, barely interested. I'm trying to decide if I should know his name or not. "A man about Jack's size?"

"Sure thing. I can lift whatever you need. I work out a lot." He answers me, watching as I draw my gun from its holster.

The weight is familiar, heavy and cold, and I aim it directly at Jack's side. I'd told him if he didn't go along with what I said, it would be the end for him. He still clung to the hope that someone would stop us, but so far, the streets are empty and not a single one of his staff had noticed he isn't happy.

"What are you doing?" Tori snaps, but she doesn't move an inch from her position.

I look at her at out of the corner of my eye, then return my stare to Jack. "What I should have done the moment I saw him. The two of you can throw him in the truck."

The gun goes off easily, my aim still as sharp as ever, and only Four blinks at the sound.

 

 

"Do you think she's alright?"

Four looks at me while we walk through the heavy glass doors, pushing them open and waving off the security guards at the entryway. We'd left Candor shortly after Jack had let out a scream of pain. He must have a flair for the drama, because he was fine; I'd shot him clean through his side, and though bloody and raw, he'd live.

Tori's friend had thrown him in the backseat of their truck, and they'd followed us, keeping close behind while we led the way. The route wasn't entirely familiar, but I knew where I was going.

It wasn't long before the asylum loomed before us, resting just atop the winding road. Its crumbling façade gave an eerie first impression. In the wavering afternoon sun, it looked hopeless, like it had been given up on long ago, in a hurry. Had I ever found it on my own, I'd have assumed it was abandoned, left to rot despite its massive presence.

We'd brought Jack along with us. My only concern was that he'd slow us down considerably, but I needed him. His presence allowed us to look like we were here on official business, and since he'd sentenced Violet here, it made sense he'd come along to free her. I'd forced him to button his jacket up, despite a bloody side, and slapped his cheek. I hissed at him he'd better play along or the wound on his side would only grow larger.

He agreed.

We entered the building as a group; Tori and her friend followed behind Four and I, and Jack was stuck in between us. His breathing was labored, more from the adrenaline running through him than anything, and I knew the shock would wear off soon. The pain would kick in, if it hadn't already, and he'd be miserable until we got him to somewhere they could stitch him up and drug him into bliss.

I told him perhaps they'd help him here.

We stop by the reception desk, and I shove Jack forward. He clears his throat before he signs in, his signature no longer elegant and sleek, but a sloppy, crooked mess.

"Mr. Kang?" The receptionist repeats, throwing a look at the rest of us. Her gaze pauses on me, sliding down my neck, then back up to my cold smile. There's no recognition there, but the look in her eyes tells me she's afraid. "You, uh, Dr. Branger is expecting you. You can go…on up. Take the first elevator on your left and when you exit, her office is to the right."

"Thank you," he mutters dully, and his skin has turned clammy and pale. I grab his arm, dragging him with me, refusing to let him lag behind.

"Hurry up," I snap, jabbing at the buttons impatiently. "You better hope she's alive."

He stares up at me, his face shiny in the bright lighting and he exhales sharply. "Can I ask what you want with her? Who is she to you?"

I don't answer him.

The elevator dings as the car arrives, and the doors open. I let him stumble in first, motioning for everyone else to follow. When Four is the last one to step in, Jack weakly pushes a button for the sixth floor. The elevator beings to rise, dismal music playing some shitty melody, and everyone is silent until the elevator dings again.

The music stops, and as if on cue, the doors open slowly to Dr. Branger and a slew of orderlies.

 

 

To his credit, Jack plays along.

His voice shakes near the end, hinting that's he's not doing so great, but she doesn't notice. Dr. Branger's stare is fixed on me, confused as to what I am doing here, having never been released back into her care.

"Did you hear what I said? I need her released. There was an error in the sentencing on my part. If you'll bring me her paperwork we can get started…" Jack trails off, taking in a shaky breath. He's hunching over a bit, and if Dr. Branger looked close enough, she'd have noticed the dampness of his jacket: the blood seeping through, dripping down the longer he stood there. The wound isn't life threatening, but it is open, and made worse with every step.

"Violet…" He continues on, licking his lips and swallowing heavily. "You'll have to…"

"Why are you not in Erudite?" Dr. Branger ignores him. She focuses her cold stare on me, cocking her head to the side. "Jeanine requested you were transferred there, and then you'd be brought back here."

Bored without any action, the orderlies left when she nodded at them. She was assured this was going in her favor, and we'd stepped off to the side, to a hallway I'd once been dragged down, half unconscious and entirely unwilling. Alone with just us, she had some crappy odds, but I wasn't dumb. There was no doubt this place was crawling with orderlies awaiting her orders if anything went wrong, and they wouldn't have gone far.

"I'm here on official business." I smile widely at her, no longer at the mercy of whatever she wanted to do to me. "But you and I have some business as well."

"I see. Unfortunately, Violet won't be released to any of you." Dr. Branger announces, her gaze skipping over each of us with great disdain. "She's in no condition to be taken anywhere, and with no family, no friends willing to take her in…" She pauses, looking directly at me. "And really, with no one to care for her, she's become a ward of our hospital. I've signed over as her responsible party."

"Bullshit." I snap. "You have no right to—"

"I have all the rights in the world, Eric. Isn't that what you've figured out?" Dr. Branger smiles and it makes my skin crawl. "She is no one. A citizen lost in the system, of no value to anyone but us. She can not choose a faction, can not contribute to society, and certainly cannot leave here. Jack's jurisdiction over this case has long worn off. She's ours now and we have given her a purposeful life. We will continue to do so."

"That's what you think," I bark, but I'm a second behind, my anger had gotten the best of me.

Four has his gun drawn on her, and everyone else follows suit.

"Hand her over."

I blink.

Four, the person I've hated most in this world, is standing there with his gun pointed at her temple, demanding she hand over a girl he's never met.

Dr. Branger also blinks.

"Shoot, and none of you will make it out of here alive. But that's okay. We need a few new patients. There's a new serum coming out soon, and we'll need new test subjects. It's approved to control mood swings and the chemical imbalances in the brain, but I'm sure there are a few side effects we'll need to work through." She looks at Tori and has the audacity to wink. "You're good with that, right? Those papers you signed last time you visited, the ones reassuring you we had Bella's best interests at heart, gave your official approval. I'm sure you'd be happy to join her."

I see red; bright, warm, sticky blood red.

It fills up my vision, making me grow blazingly irate, until Four grabs my arm.

"Come on, we have to hurry."

I turn my head to look at him, and I realize Tori has shot Dr. Branger clear through the head, and I'd heard nothing. Not her scream, not her muffled thud, not even the gun go off.

"Silencer. We tried to get yours before you left, but you wouldn't hand it over." Four looks at me, then over my shoulder. "Go find her. We'll cover the exits. I don't think anyone will stop you, but if they do, just shoot and we'll follow."

He's right.

The orderlies that Dr. Branger had hoped were on her side, the ones dressed in white with identical blank stares, are gone. Scattered, realizing they could be next at the hands of any of us. I see one, his eyes glued to the crumpled form of his boss, panic. He takes off, sprinting right in front of Tori's friend, who grabs him by the arm hard enough to dislocate it.

"Slow down, fucker." Tori's friend growls at him, and he and I lock eyes. His name is Reggie, and I like him. "Go. We'll wait here unless you want us to come along."

I take off immediately, not waiting for anyone to follow me.

 

 

The hallway is dark.

The dim bulbs flicker off and on, causing the same weak lighting that I'd spent weeks beneath. The air smells familiar, heavy with fear and panic and medical grade disinfectant, and I storm down past the doors without stopping. My boots thud over the cheap flooring, and one patient pops his head out at the sound. His eyes are unfocused, hazy looking, and after a single moment, he slams his door shut when he finds nothing of interest.

I pause only when I pass the door of the room I'd stayed in, and my whole body tenses up. I flash back to my nights there, lying on a bed six sizes too small, staring the ceiling. I flash back to terrible dreams, of drugged sleep and forced awakenings, of ideas in my head that I couldn't have been sure were my own.

I suddenly feel crazed, the world blurring before me, and I wonder if I've lost it.

Maybe none of this is real. Maybe I'm still here, drugged to the gills, maxed out on a sleeping serum to keep me from getting free. Maybe I'll open my eyes to the sight of Kenan, his uniform wrinkled, and his kind smile as he led me down to breakfast.

I shake my head.

My vision clears immediately; the hallways is still dim, the lighting it still shit, and I focus on Violet's door.

I stalk over, shoving it open fully expecting to find her standing there. Staring up at me, waiting for me. She might not have asked for my help out of here, but I was going to give it to her. I had to. I felt desperate suddenly, my eyes adjusting to the strange darkness, as something tangles itself around the organs in my chest.

It tightens, growing unbearably painful, until I see her.

 

 

I carry her out.

Her head lolls against my shoulder, her dark hair spilling onto my arm, and her dress making it hard to hold onto her. They've dressed her like this—for I've never seen her wear such a thing—as if she were being sacrificed in some sort of bizarre ritual. To my dismay, whatever she has on is pale and slippery, and her feet are bare.

Her skin is stark and ashen, the color gone from her cheeks, and her eyes never open, not even when I say her name.

I walk with her quickly, back down the hallway, under the flickering lights. Patients appear, perhaps the noise of someone shrieking drawing them out, and they watch carefully.

I don't recognize any of them.

Gone are Pete, Aidy, and Bobby, and the few others I'd have recognized.

These patients are new; blurred stares, hacked off hair, and ill-fitting clothes. I hurry past them, keeping Violet against my chest, as I round the corner.

"Over here."

Tori calls me over, still standing with the group, and her face gives way to the tension bubbling beneath my skin.

"We need to hurry. We don't think they've called Jeanine. But someone came out here, and we think he was another doctor. He told told us whatever we needed to do was fine, but to leave as soon as possible and he wouldn't stop us. He knows you came for her. Is she okay?" Her eyes drop to Violet, taking in surprise at her limp form, and I shake my head.

"Let's go."

I don't stop to think. The only male doctors I'd met were during my intake, and once, during an errand where I mistaken for an orderly. I wonder where Dr. Erin is, if she's cowering in her office and if she's tried to call someone, but I don't have the luxury of dwelling on it.

"Maybe we should have taken Jeanine out first if you wanted to hang out here." Tori hisses at me, daring to touch me as she tries to make everyone hurry. I glare at her, following them towards the elevator we'd came in through, and I hesitate.

"We should take the stairs." Four calls out, and I notice he looks frantic. Every so often he looks at Violet, and his face tightens.

"They don't go all the way to the lobby." I inform him, adjusting Violet so I don't drop her. She hasn't moved, but she's still breathing.

"Fine. We head out prepared to shoot. Jack, you go first. Are we taking her straight to the infirmary?" Four asks, shoving a groaning Jack a step away from him. He'd been looking at him differently since we left, his vision of the proud Candor leader now tarnished. I could tell Four was bothered by the treatment of Violet, especially with the state she's in.

"I don't know, Four. I'm a little busy right now. I haven't thought that far ahead." I bark at him, side-eying him until he glares back at me.

He does hold the elevator doors for us, impatiently waiting until we are all on before jamming the close button. Four wasn't my ideal partner in this operation, but I couldn't entirely dismiss his help. However, I was confused by it. I didn't know if his own life back in Dauntless was so boring that he needed this for some excitement, but I had to admit, he'd been useful. Every so often, he looks at down at Violet, letting his expression slip.

"Well, you should. Unless you earned your medical degree while you were here." He answers, and I find myself finding a speck of humor in this bleak situation.

"I did. But I'll let you lead the way," I retort.

"Good," he agrees, stepping closer to Tori. "But I don't think Dauntless is safe."

"Great," I mutter, not at all sure what to do now. I try to think, but I'm jostled by Reggie, his eyes glued to Violet's unconscious form.

It's clear no one else does, either.

The ride down is silent, except for Jack's increased groaning.

 

 

We leave him in the lobby.

I sign his name in for him with one hand, then I hand him the voluntary admission sign in sheet.

"Sign here. They'll take you back up and get you stitched up. Good luck." I snarl, forcing a pen in his hand.

He signs heavily, his eyes closing halfway, and I smirk when he sort of collapses to the floor.

"I've lost a lot of blood. Your friend…he hit me when you were gone." He tries to stare up at me, and I shake my head.

"He should have done more than that. Hey, you!" I wave the girl over, the same girl from before, except now she has a terrified expression on her face as she slinks over. "You have a new patient. Dr. Erin said you had room for him. We think he needs stitches."

At Dr. Erin's name, the girl relaxes, and she smiles brightly. She takes his form from me, and peeks over the counter.

"We'd be happy to help. I'll get him to a room right away."

We leave, Violet still not awake, and this time, Four drives us away in the opposite direction.


	17. Jeanine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric rushes to find help for Violet, fearing she won't wake up. He's forced to involve others, and his plans spiral out of his control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Buried-in-books & Bamberlee for your editing and help with this chapter!
> 
> Thanks for everyone's patience, especially if you knew this was being updated today :)

Four drives like an asshole.

He speeds away from the asylum like Jack will come crawling out of it at any moment. He barely gives Tori time to catch up to him, driving down the winding road far faster than he drove up it. He takes a direction I'm not expecting, turning sharply, resulting in Violet slamming into me, her head hitting my chest, and I'm surprised the truck doesn't tip over.

To my dismay, she doesn't react.

"Can you not?" I bark at him, my nerves firing in so many directions it's hard for me to keep control and reason. I'd normally be able to overlook the fact he can't drive, but right now the panic is overwhelming. It grows through my chest like weeds, wrapping around every organ and tightening in on them. I try to breathe normally, gritting my teeth until they hurt, holding on tighter to her, but it's nearly impossible.

She's still pale.

She's still not awake, nor has she opened her eyes. Whatever they've given her to keep her unconscious worked. I work through a mental check list of all the things it could have been, but my knowledge of sedatives pales in comparison to what they had on hand. All I can do is try to make sure she's still alive, but I have a dark feeling her outlook isn't good.

My brain races to think of a plan, but instead of something clean and simple, it brings up all sorts of chaos that I don't typically experience. My thoughts take a dark turn, much like Four's driving, and I nearly throw up when I realize nothing good can possibly come from this. Breaking her out might have been the best option, but I still needed her to pull through to make this worthwhile. If I saved her, and she died at my own hands, then I'm not any better than the rest of them.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I'll slow down so their security can catch up with us," Four barks right back at me, the tension clear on his face. "Did you want my help or not? Because you could always drive, you know."

I glare at him, something lethal and full of rage, but I say nothing. Had I driven, I would have had to hand her off to him, and I wasn't about to do that.

"Fine." I finally dredge up the word, narrowing my eyes when he makes another sharp turn. "Where the fuck are you going?"

I feel thrown off that I don't know, but this isn't a route I'd frequented. None of it even looks remotely familiar. The trees seem darker and higher, and the road winds and turns dizzily. For a solid minute, Four drives in silence. He finally side eyes me, then shakes his head.

"Somewhere I never thought I'd be taking _you_."

"Helpful," I retort, noticing my leg is bouncing up and down. I'm well aware I'm panicking now, something I've rarely experienced. My attempt to rationalize the panic, to think it's merely a fight or flight reflex, is in vain. I still have the urge to run, to leap from this truck, and never look back.

It comes out of nowhere, powerful and angry, and I hold onto Violet tighter to stop it. I force myself to lean back against the seat to stare at the rear-view mirror as a distraction. Behind us, Tori's friend is driving just as recklessly, doing his best to keep up with Four. They follow us down the long road until we approach the border of Abnegation.

I look over at Four, and he keeps his stare straight ahead.

"Just promise me, you'll be…quiet."

His words are apprehensive, fully aware this might be a bad idea. A terrible idea, really. But I have no choice.

I don't agree to anything, but I do sit silently while he drives, this time slower until he stops in front of the nondescript house.

 

 

Ages later, Natalie Prior looks horrified.

She should.

Violet is still slumped against my chest, and her head is only propped up because I'm holding it.

Natalie takes in the scene before her, doing her best to keep her reaction as neutral as she can. She's trying to remain calm, looking at me before her gaze falls to Violet, but it is there: the same distressed look Four had when he saw her, the same look that told me I was in over my head.

Four had taken us to Abnegation. Not to his own former home, for that would be laughable, but to the Prior's house. He'd knocked, waited, gone inside for longer than I'd preferred, and then walked back out with Natalie. I only knew her because of Andrew, but I had little faith she would be able to help us.

She'd walked out of her house curiously, her hair neatly pulled back and her grey clothes blander than ever, following Four. For a second she looked happy; happy to see him, happy to be helping him out. Of course, she'd do her best. There was no way she could tell him no. But her expression changed the minute he motioned for her to walk around and the second truck had pulled up.

I hadn't gotten out.

Being silent meant not going in and screaming for someone to get started, so I'd sat there with Violet, unmoving. Both of us did.

Carrying Violet inside, in broad daylight, felt risky. Sitting in this truck felt risky. Natalie Prior leaning in, her hand reaching to touch Violet's hair felt risky. It was like this was ready to blow up in my face, like this plan was hanging on by a single thread, and anything that went wrong would cause it to snap.

"Who did this to her?" Natalie questions, her voice soft. Worried. She and Four have the same disheartened grimace, and she presses the back of her palm to Violet's head. "How long has she been like this?"

Her questions are gentle, not at all accusatory, but I feel guilty. Like I'd done this to Violet all because I left her behind, like it was my fault. It takes me a second to answer, and when I look up, the world tilts to the side.

My equilibrium is off, and I shut my eyes.

"Someone at the asylum drugged her. They were preparing to do something else to her when we got there." My voice sounds odd, as if I'm not the one talking. "They wanted her quiet, so they gave her something to keep her knocked out."

Natalie frowns and looks at me. "The asylum?"

"Yeah, it's a fun little place no one knew existed. I'll explain more in a minute," Four interrupts, looking left then right. "You can help her, right? We need to figure out how to wake her up. What they gave her. We can't take her to Dauntless or Erudite, and you were the only person I could think of who might know what to do."

Natalie nods slowly. "You didn't mention she was…drugged like this. This is…a problem."

"No shit," I mutter, and Four glares at me.

"Knock it off," He snaps and thank God my arms are full. "I know you're worried about her, but we don't have long to figure this out. Natalie, please. Maybe…maybe he can bring her inside. Maybe let her sleep it off?"

"I don't think…I don't have much medical experience, but I can try my best. I have no clue what they've given her. You said it was something to keep her asleep? A sedative?" Natalie answers and her stare meets mine.

"Yes. They sedate patients as they see fit." I answer tersely, and she nods.

"Okay, that's a good start. I think we need to work quickly and it's not wise for you to stay out here. Someone will get suspicious. They're probably wondering why you're all here now."

She stops, pausing to look over at Four as she thinks out loud. "Take her inside. Upstairs. There's an empty bedroom to the left."

"You're going to keep her here?" I stare at her in surprise, not at all sure how I feel about this. Scratch that. I do know how I feel about it, and while it should be gratefulness, it's mostly reluctance paired with nerves.

Natalie notices, and she turns to me, smiling kindly.

"Yes. I can get started with something to help flush out what's in her system. We tend to approach things a bit differently, but if I can get her to drink something, that'll help. Worst case scenario, I can start an IV for her with some saline. Try to flush it out of her."

Her words, while spoken kindly and softly, feel like knives in my skin.

"Where on Earth are you going to get all of that?" I ask, and Tori appears alongside her.

"Are we staying? I'm getting antsy."

Four looks at her, then me, then Natalie. I have to make a decision, but my brain feels like it's a minute behind.

"He's bringing her inside, but you're all more than welcome to stay. You'll just need to move the trucks somewhere off the main road." Natalie offers.

"Are you sure?" Four asks, not looking convinced even when she nods. "I didn't want to get you involved. I don't even know how you'll help. I just…it's not right what they did, and there's nowhere she can go—"

"It's not a problem. I'd be happy to help, but I suggest we get started. Something bad must have happened for you all to be so concerned about her." Natalie is speaking to Four, but she's looking at me. "We have a very small medical center here. It's run by volunteers, and we use it to help the factionless however we can. I can run down there and grab a few things. If she gets worse, we can bring her down there and pretend we found her. What she's got on won't be associated with any faction. They'll think she was one of the factionless."

"Alright," Four agrees, albeit reluctantly. "But if anyone comes along—"

"I can deal with them. I don't think anyone here would want her to suffer." Natalie gently pulls her hand away from Violet, and motions at the house. "You'll need to bring her inside now."

"Eric," Tori announces, and she smiles defensively as someone walks past us. They peer curiously, but they can't see anything from where they are. "I hate to bring this up now, but we still have a lot to take care of. Jeanine…Max…Harrison. I don't know how long we can all stay here without someone noticing."

"Yeah, I know. We'll get her inside then head out. Hopefully, she'll be awake by the time we're done," I answer.

I notice Natalie listening in, so I shake my head at Tori.

"Give me twenty minutes."

 

 

Natalie leads us inside.

I carry Violet in after her, followed by Four, Tori, and Reggie. I'm sure we are quite the sight, but I keep my head held high, reminding myself no one will look for her here.

Once inside, I notice the house is just as bland and boring as I would have imagined, but it smells good. Natalie must have been baking something moments before we arrived. I follow her past the kitchen, noting every detail in case I need to bolt, memorizing the layout. The houses in Abnegation are identical, set back along the street with dull color. It feels small, cramped even with minimal furniture, and everything blends together.

There is absolutely no sense of privacy or defense.

"This way." Natalie gestures, I'm careful not to drop Violet as I walk up the steps. She carefully slides past me, stopping to open the door to the bedroom. The room is small and plain, but there's a bed in the corner, and that's enough.

I lie Violet down immediately, my muscles screaming in agony after being tensed during the ride over here, and Natalie instantly sits down beside her. She picks up her wrist, her skinny fingers searching for a pulse while she frowns. It might be the dull lighting, but I swear, Violet's shoulders move.

An unexpected wave of hope washes over me, fleeting, but there.

"Eric, can you tell me why they'd want her to be quiet? Were you there with her?" Natalie looks up, pulling her knees to the side to make space if I wanted to sit down.

I don't.

She speaks calmly when I answer I wasn't there for long, and she proceeds to ask me a few more questions. I can only guess what they've given her, listing a few of the things I knew they had on hand, and I feel useless when I can't offer much more.

It takes me a slow second, and the arrival of a tense Four, but I realize she's trying to calm me down. I'd caught sight of my reflection in the mirror, my own skin pale, and she must have figured out I was seconds away from losing it. I had half a mind to tell Four just to take us to Dauntless. At least we had an active infirmary, and I could buy some time by signing her in under the name of a member.

But that wasn't plausible at all. I'd eventually have run into Max and Harrison, and they'd be well aware the unconscious girl in my arms was Violet. I'd have to deal with them before Jeanine, and with my luck, she'd already alerted the faction to what was going on. Max might have played nice when he was getting the faux emails, but he wouldn't when he realized Four had been behind them. I knew I had to work fast, but time was slipping away from me with every passing second.

"Are you ready?" Tori asks, impatience written all over her face.

I nod tightly, and I jerk my head north.

"We'll go to Erudite first."

"It sounds like you have a lot you need to do still." She pauses, looking at Four, and motions toward Violet. "She'll be fine here. Even if someone comes to look for her, I can keep her safe."

I swallow, doubtful as ever that a woman from Abnegation would be able to fight off anyone who was looking for Violet. I had high hopes that no one had followed us here, but I couldn't be certain.

Natalie can tell.

"I promise. If any of the neighbors get a little too concerned, I'll tell them you found her, and she's going home very soon." Natalie reassures us calmly, too rational for this entire situation. I stare at her, realizing I'm slowly being pulled down further and further, that this is spiraling out of my control. Natalie is now a part of this. Involving another person doesn't sit well with me, but I have little choice at this point.

"Eric?" She looks at me, and I look at Four. I'm trapped, this decision completely out of my hands now, and they all know.

"Fine. I'll leave her here. I'll come back as soon as we're done."

"Great. I'll meet you downstairs." He answers, and he shuts his eyes. "Natalie, thank you again for your help."

"Of course," she answers, ever kind.

Four leaves, and I can hear this boots thud on the stairs on the way down. I wait until I can't hear them anymore before I stand up, fully prepared to walk away from Violet.

Instead-

I stand there, staring.

Waiting for her to wake up.

I wait for her to sit up, groggy but alive, looking at me. Realizing she's out of the asylum, and here with me. Her dark eyes flashing in gratitude, not that I'd saved her, but that I'd come back to see her. That I'd wanted her to stay alive, that she meant something to someone.

But she doesn't do anything of the sort.

She lies there, looking worse for the wear.

"You're close to her, aren't you?" Natalie breaks the silence, peering up at me curiously. She shifts beside her, fidgeting with the covers. "I saw you…walking through Abnegation a few months ago. Looking for something. I didn't know you had a significant other."

"I…" I have nothing to say.

My words die in my throat, and I stare at her.

Natalie was right. I had been here, looking for a person. Looking for someone who didn't fit in. Ready to grab them by their hair and drag them back to Jeanine. She would have tested them, and when they reached a breaking point, shipped them off to be repaired so she could test them again.

"She's…just …if she wakes up, or when she wakes up, tell her I'll be back."

I look right at her, hating the need to explain myself. There isn't a word to describe what Violet is to me, so I don't. I simply leave the room without looking at Natalie.

 

 

Erudite is dark.

It isn't really; while the sun is sinking, the faction itself is bustling with its usual business, and people are walking around everywhere. The sun hangs mockingly in my line of sight, and I focus around it while I drive the truck. Four had offered to drive us here, but I'd waved him off, slipping into the driver's seat and turning the truck on without a single word.

Natalie had stopped me before I walked through the door, quietly telling me she thought Violet would be fine. She'd told me she was going to head to the medical center to grab someone who was definitely not a qualified nurse, and by the time I was back, Violet should be in a better state. Maybe even awake. I had little faith in the Abnegation's way of handling such a medical issue, but I couldn't do anything. I didn't have any other choice.

"Do you have a plan?" Four asks, looking less than pleased. "Or are we going into this blind?"

" _We_ ," I say sharply, "are not doing anything. You're coming along to stand there and look like you might shoot someone. I'll handle Jeanine. Just keep your mouth shut and pretend whatever I say is news to you."

He doesn't look impressed.

"What are you going to do? Talk your way out of this? You've taken out the leader of Candor and had him committed. I'm sure that's gotten back to her. You now have Max and Harrison on the hunt for you, both on high alert for the moment when you wander back into Dauntless. Oh, and let's not forget that once you kill Jeanine, you'll either have to kill Max and Harrison or somehow get them to side with you."

Four has a point, but I'm aware of it already.

"I told you. I'm going to kill Jeanine. Once she's dead, we'll deal with Max and Harrison. They'll be easy," I tell him, keeping my eyes straight ahead. "If you're too scared, you can go back and wait in Abnegation."

Four bristles. "I'm not scared. I'm just wondering if you're really… you're just…dismantling every leader in every faction today? That's all that was on your agenda? Or is there somewhere else we're going next?"

"Calm down. Amity and Abnegation are fine. The rest of the factions will survive. They won't even know they're down a leader. The worst-case scenario is we cover them once we're back in Dauntless. You and I both know Dauntless will be fine without Max, and everyone hates Harrison." I look over at him, and he averts his stare. "I would think you'd be happy about that last one."

"I would be," Four answers as I park. "If I wasn't heavily involved in all this."

"Well, it's a little late now," I answer mockingly, and he shakes his head.

"Eric, before we go in there, I have something I need you to hear."

"We don't have time," I snarl.

"Listen to me. I helped you. I've been helping you for a while. I have no doubt this will work in your favor. But you owe me. And after this, after all is said and done, and you've rid the factions of whomever you pleased, and you get Violet back, you leave me alone. You leave all of us alone. You quit your hunt for Divergents, you quit your interest in what I do, and you leave Tris alone, too. You thank Natalie, return to Dauntless or wherever the fuck you're going, and never ever seek me out again. Understood?"

I turn to look at him, and he's deadly serious with his lengthy list of demands. His lips are pressed into a fine line, and his eyes are dark.

I stare at him, his beady eyes on mine, and he nods at me, a hint of encouragement in there. Unfortunately for him, this is just getting started.

"Eric. Give me your word."

I don't answer him. I grab the gun nearest to the diver's seat and get out of the truck.

 

 

We walk into the building quickly.

Authoritatively, like I have every right to be here.

The others follow right along with me, all mimicking my posture: shoulders pulled back, spine straight, head held high. We walk directly past the receptionist desk, right past the few members waiting.

I make eye contact with no one, giving them the impression that they are beneath me. My plan, arrogance on full display like I'm not wanted for breaking out of a mental hospital and stealing a patient, works.

Security waves us through with no issue. I know the security team is a joke, but they're still members of the Dauntless faction who prefer to stay here for extended amounts of time. They have no real loyalty to Jeanine. Their only real concern is the factionless, or anyone who poses a threat. But they could always fire anyway, or at least stop us.

I must not be a security threat, because while they recognize me, not a single one blinks as we stride by them. They watch silently, not even curious as we walk toward the large silver doors. We take an elevator up, this one with spotless mirrored glass panes, and Four and Tori both look at each other, then at me.

"We need to know what you're doing…" Tori starts, but I cut her off.

"Let me do the talking."

I glance at them, noting the tense postures of everyone. I suppose they're deserved. After all- we're heading into the heart of Erudite with the intent to end Jeanine's life. Killing their Leader. No way out of this that doesn't involve someone winding up dead.

"Are you armed?" Tori asks, and I nod. I'd grabbed a gun off the seat. Four had followed suit, and Tori and Reggie were both still armed from before. Their stares are worrisome, stress creeping up as the elevator dings to announce our arrival. This wouldn't be a pleasant visit, but it's not like any part of this day had been exceptionally cheery.

The doors open slowly, giving way to a hallway flanked by two large glass doors. The Erudite logo is embossed in the glass, the sharp etching perfect. Through it, I can see Jeanine sitting behind her desk, her blonde hair falling forward as she types something quickly. Her gaze is distracted, fixed on her work. I motion for everyone to follow me, and I throw the doors open like I own the place.

Jeanine looks up as I walk through, a dark, pleased smile appearing slowly. She waits until I'm halfway across the room before she pushes her chair back and stands up. She pauses to fix her dress, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles, and then smooths down her hair. When I near the desk, she steps around, a fake, sympathetic look on her face.

"Eric. What on Earth have they done to you? You look terrible." She murmurs the words, her gaze flitting to the group behind me, as she reaches for me. She stops, touching the sides of my face lightly, then turning my head from side to side, examining my skull intently. She frowns when I jerk away roughly from her pretend examination, as though she weren't the one who sentenced me to be committed.

She reaches for me again, but I shake my head. Her touches felt torturous, like nails scraping down my skin.

"You have a lot of explaining to do," I announce, her sympathetic stare still on me. I can feel it, as she searches for a sign of something on my temples.

"Of course. I'm sorry about the mix-up. I never meant to leave you there. Things just got…out of hand." She steps back, smiling brightly as she shakes her head. "I heard about your stay. I know you got the girl out. You and I both know you'll have to return her back to where she belongs."

She pauses, clasping her hands in front of her as she examines me from head to toe. "I'm assuming you're ready to resume your role here. We'll have to get you cleaned up. You look rough. And who are your guests? Are they here on business?"

"Cut the bullshit," I growl lowly, my tone dark enough she has the decency to flinch. "You and I both know you had every intention of keeping me there. You needed someone to take the blame, and you chose me.

"The rest of you can have a seat." She looks beyond me, calling out to them like I've brought them here for fun. She then leans in and lowers her voice so only I can hear her. "It's in your best interest to play nice. I know they're armed. I'm not stupid. I've been expecting you since the minute you left the asylum. You know it won't take much to get my security team in here."

"Turn off the cameras," I instruct harshly.

Her gaze turns cold.

"Why would I do that?"

"I'm about to make you a deal," I announce, and I glance back at Tori and Four. "And I want it done off camera. Talking about the asylum, when this footage might eventually leak, isn't very smart on your part. So turn it off, and I'll fill you in. I'll give you what you want."

She eyes me coldly, rightfully suspicious, but she nods.

"Fine."

She walks back to her desk, and I watch carefully as she pushes a few buttons on her computer. The screen changes, showing the security cameras, and her office goes black on the screen. She looks up expectantly, her arms crossing over her chest. "Now then, please tell me what sort of deal you think you're making."

"Call Max and Harrison. Have them both step down. Have them come here. Whatever you want. Take my name off your alert list. Leave Violet alone. You'll tell me how to fix what they've given her and make sure she wakes up."

"Those are some lofty demands, Eric," Jeanine drawls, looking entertained. "And what would I get out of this?"

I turn back and find Four's stare, his lips pressed together, and his hands balled into fists, and he looks like I'm about to betray him.

He's right.

"The brown haired one, Four, is divergent. Four's girlfriend, Tris Prior, is also divergent. We've been eyeing her for a while, but we were never able to quite confirm it, but he asked for her protection earlier. Next to him is Tori. She wants to kill you because her brother was divergent and had an unfortunate accident. And Reggie, well, he's fine, but you'll probably want to kill him for what he's witnessed."

Jeanine's eyes flash, and she eyes them greedily. I can see her mind working quickly at the prospect of being handed not one, but two Divergents and someone with an agenda against her. Of having two people she could fuck with merely because. Of me, proving I would always take her side no matter what she's done.

For a long minute, the air is silent, thick with tension.

"I'll tell you where Tris is. Fuck, I'll bring her to you. Violet is with her mother. We could meet her in Abnegation, and you could take her straight back if you please." I pause, looking at Four, and he's so livid I'm surprised he's still standing. I see him twitch, reaching for the gun he'd grabbed in the car. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, Four. You might be armed, but so is the security team waiting outside. They followed us up. It would only take one shot for them to be in here."

Tori looks me with pure and utter loathing. "You piece of shit. After all we did for you."

I shrug, waltzing behind Jeanine slowly. I watch Tori with a smirk on my face, remembering the very day she came to the asylum. "Thanks for the help getting me out of there, by the way. Sorry to call off the engagement."

She looks like she wants to rip my head off, but I ignore her. It won't be long now until I have what I want, so I wait while Jeanine debates my offer.

"All you want is the girl? Really? After all that, all you want is her? She's useless, you know. It's a pity, really. She could have had a bright future ahead of her."

"She's what I want. I told you." I roll my eyes, my stare on Reggie. "Tell me what they gave her. Will she wake up or no? Is what they gave her permanent?

"Will you take her to Dauntless?" Jeanine questions, her fingers on the edge of her desk.

"Sure," I answer, and Four swallows. "Now tell me, what did they give her?"

"It's a new serum. It's sort of like a sedative that could be used for surgery, only longer lasting, perfect when you just need someone out of your way for a few days. The good news is, it'll wear off on its own. The bad news is she may experience a few side effects that we can't quite pinpoint. Shaking, hallucinations..." Jeanine pauses and looks right at me. "Paranoia. She may fear you when she comes to, thinking you're the one who injected her. Or she may not have any. It's a work in progress, you understand."

"When did they give it to her?"

"I don't know. I don't work there." Jeanine loses her patience, and she snaps her gaze to me. "I would assume it won't last much longer. However, there is something she can be given to force her awake. It's administered intravenously. I can't think of the name off hand but find someone from the labs, and they'll help you."

"And Max?" I question, walking directly behind her. Over her shoulder, I can see Reggie sweating, and Tori looking like she might throw up. "Call him."

"He won't answer. He's on his way. I told him you were here."

"Fine. I'll deal with him when he gets here. Call off my name, now. The rest of you- arms up in the air." I point my gun at them, and they blink. Tori glances at Four, and slowly, painfully, they raise their hands.

Four waits until my stare lands on him, and he shakes his head.

"You're a coward," he spits, and I roll my eyes again. "You always have been, and you always will be."

I turn slightly, so I can watch Jeanine type an email to her security team. I know it'll go to Max and Harrison, and to all other faction leaders, revoking my status as someone to be on the lookout for. It takes her longer than I'd like, and I grow antsy until I can see that she's sent it.

"Alright then. You can go pick up your girlfriend and take her home. I fully expect your cooperation from here on out. We'll put this little incident in the past." She pauses and turns to look at the group in front of her. "As for the rest of you—"

She doesn't finish her sentence.

I shoot her in the back of her head. The shot is silent; she never heard it coming. She staggers forward, crashing into her desk gracelessly. The blood splatter is immediate, staining her blonde hair and staining the carpet in an artful spray. The room is silent while she falls, her body thudding to the ground with a sick thump, and Reggie lets out a shaky gasp.

"Eric!" Tori blurts out, the color completely gone from her face. She looks at me with wide eyes and holds both her hands up. "Eric, wait!"

I walk over to them, and they take a step back, panic all over their faces. They scramble to draw their own weapons, fumbling to aim them as I walk over. I approach Four first, making sure he's looking right at me. Thinking of our unspoken rivalry, of all the times I've thought about this moment, of all the times I deemed his life worthless.

He can tell. He's frantic as he looks at me, his mouth falling open as he pulls his gun to aim it, and I swallow thickly.

"I need one more favor. Then you have my word."

He stares as I hand him his gun back, walking back to the desk.

I motion for them all to come over, as I neatly type up a memo for the factions.


	18. Prior Daze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big ol thank you to Bamberlee for editing this chapter and sending it back so quickly!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who is still reading along, any my sincere apologies that this took so long to update. I've had this on my laptop for ages with every single intent of getting it updated and I can only blame this late update on the fact that I quit drinking coffee. 
> 
> Because it's been 100 years since the last chapter, I'd suggest rereading it lol. 
> 
> Enjoy & thanks for reading ;)

"You asshole."

Four shoves me as hard as he can. I barely move, but I glare at him, wondering how on Earth he could possibly be upset right now.

"What now?" I snap. "What's your problem? I gave you your gun back."

"My gun? You think that's my problem? I mean, it is. You want to talk about that little trick? Fine. That bullet you just shot her in the head with is registered to my gun. But that's not the only issue I have."

He sounds hysterical, his voice getting louder the longer he talks. He glares at me- dark and furious, something I didn't quite think he was capable of, but I wave him off.

I am almost done.

All I have left to do, is wait for Max to get here. I'd drafted an email announcing Max's retirement and Harrison's death. I'd sent it to the remaining faction leaders, including myself. I figured I'd give Max a chance to pretend he wanted to make amends. But I wouldn't accept it. I wouldn't kill him, though because it would be nice to see him factionless, begging for a second chance as I walked past him. Harrison, well, I'd never forgive him, especially after he'd handcuffed me with such joy. But really, if the need arose, I'd kill them both. I'd fucking hand over Dauntless to Four and Tori if it meant Max or Harrison would suffer at my own hands for what they did.

I'd spent weeks, weeks of my life I'd never get back, locked up in a mental institution. After Jeanine, I blamed them.

"Eric, are you even listening?" Four yells, and when I look over at him, he's pacing back and forth. "You…you asshole. You were going to-"

"You already said that. And don't be stupid. I wasn't going to kill you. Not right now." I interrupt him, glancing at my watch. I feel the snap of unease hit, and I am trying my best to focus on what I have to do. My mind keeps sliding back to Violet, wondering if she's woken up yet. Wondering just exactly what I'm going to do now because if I don't come up with something, I'm screwed. "I told you I'd handle it. And I did. So calm the fuck down."

"I don't know if that little you stunt you pulled counts as handling anything." Tori doesn't look any happier than Four. She crosses her arms over her chest, but her skin is no longer pale. "What are you going to do next? Are you shooting Max and Harrison as well? Isn't the security team going to get suspicious?"

"No." I shake my head. "They weren't alerted. She turned everything off. She believed what I told her."

"And I thought she was smart." Reggie mutters, also looking irritated. "This how you always operate?"

"Yes." I answer shortly. "Every time I make my rounds to kill every single leader who fucked me over, I always make sure to use those around me as bargaining chips."

"As long as you can admit it." Tori mutters, and I jerk my stare over to her. "Look, don't kill them. Not here. We'll take them back to Dauntless. We can put them in holding cells there. I don't think you want to be dragging three dead bodies out of this office."

"I don't." I agree, and I look directly at her. "That's why you're going to detain them. Take them back with you. The guards here will help if you ask nice enough. I'm going back to Abnegation."

Four stops his pacing, and stares at me like I've lost my mind.

"Are you kidding me? You're going to leave us to do your dirty work while you…" Four is so angry he can barely speak. His skin has turned bright red, the fury seeping through his pores as he fails to compose himself. "You can't be serious."

"I told you. One more favor, then I leave you alone."

"Is that the favor?" Four asks darkly.

"No." I shake my head, and he stares me down.

"Then that's two-"

"I'll explain in the truck. You can drive." I very politely offer, and he still looks like he might explode. "It's that or you can kill them when they get there or risk them killing you. Your choice."

Tori looks at me oddly, her expression changing to panic. Subtle panic, but it's there.

"It'll be a bloodbath. They'll be prepared to fight after all this back and forth. The minute they see us, here, instead of you…they'll shoot on sight. We're all in this now." She points out, and she looks at Reggie, then me, something dawning on her. "Did you appoint yourself as Leader of all the factions? Is that what that email said? Are you giving us an official command to kill them?"

"No, I'm not. I didn't appoint anyone, anywhere. But if none of you will do it, then fine. I'll take them out, you drag them back to Dauntless, and I'll handle them another time." I rub my hands on my face, and move toward the doors. "You'll need to call and have someone move Jeanine. Have her taken to the asylum. Tell them they can research all they want on her. Ask for Dr. Erin."

"Eric." Tori says my name again, her voice tight. "Are you really leaving? You're just…you're not going to finish…"

I look at her sharply, every nerve in my body screaming to get out of here. I'm reminded of my weeks in the institution, the itchy restlessness creeping under my skin when I felt just as trapped there. I'd held it together this whole time. I'd killed Jeanine like I'd wanted to, and there was little doubt Max and Harrison would be an issue.

But I can't stay here any longer.

"I'm going to see if Violet's awake."

It takes her a second, but she eventually nods.

No one says anything else. Four looks like he wants to, but he smartly keeps his mouth shut, and he follows me out the door.

 

 

 

He somehow manages to drive even worse on the way back to Natalie's house.

On the way out, I'd stopped and grabbed the first guard I saw. I jerked him toward me, and quietly told him Max and Harrison were to return to Dauntless. I warned him there was an announcement coming, and he should be ready to listen to what the Dauntless soldiers told him to do. If Tori and Reggie needed help, then they were to help. I waited until he nodded his understanding. It came after a suspicious look, but eventually, he gave in.

Just in time.

Because seconds later, they appeared.

Max and Harrison had walked right in. They stopped a few steps away from us, and the look on Harrison's face was priceless. Utter horror. A dash of resentment. Pure loathing. The slow and sharp realization that he'd been tricked, that I was standing there, completely fine, with my brain not erased, talking to the security team.

Of course, they'd panicked.

They'd reached for their weapons, both armed and ready, on high alert after the odd back and forth of Jeanine's final emails. Her change of heart toward me would be highly suspicious, especially to those two. They'd wonder what was going on, and while they had come prepared, it wouldn't be enough. I was also well prepared, and so were the guards. They'd immediately sprung into action, making the smart decision to listen to what I said.

They'd followed my orders on blind faith. The atmosphere was tense; dark and bloody, as Harrison fell to the ground the second the bullet pierced his throat.

I watched him fall.

This was a dangerous game he'd played, and these were the consequences. It felt like ages ago that he smirked as he handcuffed me, his superiority gleaming as I was marched away. Months since he'd practically laughed in delight as I was blamed for Jeanine's plans. Forever ago that Max promised he'd get me out, then hadn't.

I found that I paid little attention to Max, and only to Harrison. The way his eyes flew back and forth between myself and the guards, the way the bullet ripped through his skin with the same roughness with which he'd ripped my sanity away from me. I watched the blood pour out, dark red and sticky, as it smeared across pristine marble floors. His death felt poetic as it mirrored Jeannine's: pathetic and quick.

Pointless.

"Eric!"

Max roared my name, his arms held in place by Tori and Reggie, and his weapon having easily been taken. In his age, he'd slowed down. He wasn't quite as spry or as agile as he thought he was, and that had to hurt more than the way Reggie twisted his arm back.

"Take him with you." I spat out, watching his face darken as he realized the situation was out of his hands. He'd never really been in control, only believed in the allusion Jeanine had woven for him. He could very well have taken the fall for her instead of me, and now, he saw it.

And he would take it for her.

I'd make sure of it.

He bowed his head down, and in that moment, I thought of Four calling me a coward. I thought of all the times I had been afraid, really and truly, and none of them had anything to do with my death.

"I'll meet you back in Dauntless. Hold him there. I'll handle him when I'm back."

"Will do." She answered back, pulling Max more roughly than necessary. "Keep us posted."

I stared at her, wondering why on Earth she'd be concerned, but I nodded.

Now, I sit next to Four, staring straight ahead. The road winds around and around, and I swear at one point, he drives on the wrong side of the road. It's clear no one ever taught him how to drive properly, so I can only assume he's doing his best.

"How are you going to thank Natalie?" He asks, and his knuckles are white. I want to snap at him to relax, we are mostly out of the worst of it. I'd taken care of Jeanine, I'd taken care of Harrison, and I'd let Four stand there. My hands were the ones that were dirty, not his. I'd made sure he remained saintly, and he should be signing my praises for that. "You'll have to-"

"I don't even know if she's done anything." I answer through gritted teeth, and my shoulders rise up on their own. I force them back down, and I look over at him. "But, if Violet is fine, then I'll thank her."

"Eric." Four says my name threateningly, and I throw my hands up. "We had a deal. She went out of her way to help you. You'll thank her."

"Fine. I'll say…something."

I cross my arms over my chest and lean back against the seat in an exaggerated manner. I don't say another word to him the rest of the ride, but it seems just fine with the both of us.

I'm too busy thinking of too many things.

 

 

He parks like an asshole, too.

 

 

We return to Natalie Prior's house later than I'd prefer.

I jump out of the truck the very second Four parks, stalking over to the house without waiting for him. I knock loudly, close to banging repeatedly, but I find it in me to be somewhat respectful. A second later, Natalie opens the door and I push past her without a single word. Through the grey living space. The tiniest kitchen I've ever seen. The narrowest staircase. I take the creaky steps two at a time, barely registering that Natalie is calling after me. Ignoring Four yelling my name. Ignoring everything until I reach the top.

I stop right in front of the door and everything hits me at once. The adrenaline from earlier has worn off, and in its place is a sticky, panicky, nauseating feeling. The hallway suddenly seems smaller. Claustrophobic. Like the walls are closing in on me and the ceiling is shrinking down. The air is hot, stale and thick as I try to take a deep breath.

I take a second to steady myself, the floor undulating beneath my feet as my brain works hard to process the panic I'm experiencing. It's a new sensation, an unpleasant reaction to the stress I'd been under, one that is uncontrollable. I can't shake it. I can't shake any of the thoughts that come, one torturous one after the other no matter how hard I try.

I force myself back to reality, trying to think rationally.

I'd either find Violet awake, perhaps terrified of me and everyone around her, or still unconscious.

That was it.

The best-case scenario was that she was fine, and Dr. Branger had exaggerated what she'd done to Violet. The worst-case scenario, she hadn't, and Violet wouldn't react very well to the sight of me. That she'd have realized I wasn't the person she thought I was, just like I'd tried to warn her all along.

My fingers hover on the doorknob, and each heart beat feels like ages. I finally fling the door open with my eyes shut, prepared for the squeak of her voice.

There is silence.

Despite the warm air on my exposed skin, I feel clammy. I wait for something, anything. A single noise to let me know she's awake. A bed creaking. Footsteps. My name.

But the room stays quiet.

The silence is deafening, a bleak sign that there has been no progress. Everything in my stomach drops down as regret settles in. I suddenly wonder if I could have done something else, taken her somewhere else, and I force myself to take a deep breath and open my eyes.

Everything inside me snaps.

 

 

 

"You should eat something, Eric."

Natalie wipes my forehead off. The act is downright motherly, icky as she presses her palm against my skin to feel if I have a fever. I'd already taken the heavy uniform jacket off, and now I sit next to Four, at a tiny table, so close I could feel every time he breathed.

He is just as edgy as I am.

His shitty parking job had stuck out, so he'd moved the truck. He'd also heavily, and I mean heavily and loudly, debated getting Tris. Normally, I'd have smirked in his face. My paranoia had rubbed off on him. He sounded unstable as he argued with me about going to get her. I wasn't answering him, so he looked like he was insane, pointing out the flaws in every solution he'd come up with. Until he'd finally sat down, when Natalie made him shut up.

"I'm not hungry." I answer Natalie out of respect for helping me and nothing else. Really- I'm not hungry. I can't remember the last time I ate, but I have no appetite. I can't even fathom trying to eat. But she doesn't listen to me. She gently sets down a plate in front of me and smiles kindly.

"They'll help her. More than I could. We got a hold of a nurse from the asylum. It took a minute, but she told us when they administered it, and the serum should have worn off. So, I went with a friend of mine to take her to the clinic. They'll do their best, Eric."

I stare at the plate in front of me, my gaze dull. Their best wouldn't be good enough.

"Where's the clinic?"

"You can't go there." Four snaps, his hair a disheveled mess. He'd run his hands through it when he made his final decision to just leave Tris in Dauntless, after he'd called her four times. Then twice more. She wasn't answering, and he'd spent too much time with me, because he immediately assumed the worst. I'd roughly pointed out she was fine. No one in Dauntless would pay much attention to her, especially now that Max and Harrison had been handled. She was probably avoiding his phone calls or doing anything other than waiting for him to contact her.

"Why not?" I look over at him with a dark look. "I can go wherever I please, you know. No longer Dauntless' most wanted. In fact, maybe you should drive me there. Now. Or I'll drive myself."

"No." Four slams his fork down, then looks at Natalie in an apologetic manner for making such a violent outburst. "Because you can't. You just can't wander into the Abnegation health clinic, looking for a girl who's been kept unconscious for a few days and take her out of there. Not only do you have no clue what to do with her, don't you think your presence will raise a few questions?"

"Who is going to stop me? Who are they going to tell?" I mock him, and I shrug my shoulders as Natalie takes the seat next to him. She looks at the both of us, and despite the arguing going on, she smiles. Lovely. Violet still isn't awake, I'd killed three leaders today, and now I'm sitting down for a nice dinner with the Stiff family. "You? Max? The factionless?"

"Eric, shut up." Four finally snaps and his eyes are large. "Just sit here and eat your dinner. We'll get her when they say we can. Then you and her can…can go and do whatever it is you're doing."

Natalie takes everything in with a very slight smile. "I'm sure it'll work out fine. They were very confident they could help her. There's no database to enter her into, so her visit is completely confidential."

"What are you going to do with her?" Four looks back over at me, and I shrug again.

"Move in next door to you so we can be neighbors." I retort. "I don't know, Four. She's not even awake yet. There's a high chance she'll experience the side effects Jeanine told us about and freak out. Since I don't know how she'll react, I don't know what to do. Sorry for not having all the answers to every fucking thing in the world."

"How long have you two been working together?" Natalie interrupts. She sips her mug in front of her, watching the spectacle that is Four and I unfold right in front of her. "I know this is rough on both of you. You both have a lot on the line. But it's nice you're helping each other."

The room falls silent.

I look at Four and he looks at me, and neither of us speak.

"Too long." I mutter and Four's face darkens. "For a while now. But this is…the first he's done me a personal favor."

"I see." Natalie answers, and she nods her head while she contemplates my words.

"We have one more thing to do after she wakes up." I tell…both of them, I suppose. They both look at me, and Four sighs again. His dramatic flair is beginning to grate on my nerves.

"You know, you should take her to Dauntless. Have her stay with you. She'll be lost if you have her suddenly pick a faction and try to adapt to life there." Four announces out of nowhere, like he's in charge of what happens once she's awake. Or maybe this is him trying to force a happy ending to this mess he's involved in.

I grunt in response. He and Natalie look at each other, and Natalie nods supportively. They both look back at me, their stares prying and all too knowing, and I stare back.

Eventually, I avert my gaze. I look down at my plate, and the pancakes give me a violent flashback to the asylum. Natalie had made them while I was upstairs. I had vaguely heard her mention them when I came back down, my entire body numb when I realized Violet wasn't there. I hadn't answered her; I'd sat down at the table and waited while Four had a nervous breakdown.

But now, I don't have time to wait. I don't have this time to waste, eating breakfast for dinner and pretending everything is fine. I need to leave, need to find Violet and make this right, if it's the last thing I do.

"Eric, you won't be any help if you pass out from hunger." Natalie touches my arm, the action nicer than most people who'd ever touched me. But firm enough that it tells me she fully expects me to sit there and eat.

I sit with my spine rigid, refusing to move.

Eventually, I take a bite.

 

 

 

I wake up to total darkness.

My shitty sleep is ruined by the weight shifting the bed. Natalie had insisted I stay here for the night. Her reasoning had been that Violet might wake up, and it was a faster route from her house than Dauntless. Her logic made sense, but it was hard for me to accept when the desire to run and not stop was overwhelming.

Four had left me alone, with one very intense look that told me it was expected I behave. I'd agreed, only because what else was I going to do? Head back to Dauntless and wait for Natalie to call me with her non-existing phone? Head to Erudite and make myself comfortable in Jeanine's office? Try to find the clinic myself, blowing the cover of Natalie? I couldn't risk ruining those who were helping me. I still needed Four's help with one more thing, and this left me walking on eggshells.

My mind raced frantically, but exhaustion had finally caught up with me, along with the sick disappointment that Violet still wasn't awake, and it won out. I took a shower in the smallest bathroom ever, and I threw on what I could only assume were clothes stored here in case Four needed to swing by for a slumber party. They didn't fit. They felt gross. I tossed the pants aside, eventually closing my eyes and passing out on the same bed Violet had slept on.

"Eric?" My name is whispered again, and I half expect it to be someone here to kill me. For my day to have caught up with me. For Jack to have been released, for Harrison to have come back to life. For Jeanine to have someone on the hunt for me, even in death.

For Andrew Prior to have lost his shit when he realized I was sleeping in his home.

"Eric?"

My eyes fly open at the sound of the quiet voice and I fumble in the darkness, until my fingers find soft, damp hair.

I can tell who it is immediately.

I yank Violet against me, her scrawny self collapsing into me the second she can. Her limbs hit mine, unsure in the pitch black but confident enough that it's me. She is silent, but not at all hesitant in her desire to slide her arms around me the best she can. Like she's been waiting for this moment, like she and I hadn't slept in her bed together, once, leaving me wishing I could stay there. Ignoring the rounds of the orderlies as they checked to make sure everyone was where they were supposed to be.

Her head finds the crook of my neck as she presses herself against me, my arm around her to pull her beneath the tangled sheets. She whispers my name into my skin, letting her head rest there, and I shut my eyes tightly.

Neither of us move.

I know, that if Four were to wander in here, he would see how cowardly I really am. He'd know that I'd spent the entire day attempting to fix this situation, all for her. That at the end of the day, if she woke up and was afraid of me, or didn't wake up, that none of this was worth it. That I had failed her spectacularly, when she had no one.

It's why I keep my eyes shut.

I'm too afraid this isn't real. That this is a trick: something Dr. Erin had pulled over me, making me hallucinate Violet sitting on my lap. If I open them, she will be gone, and I will be here, all alone. Not in Abnegation, in a bed Tris Prior slept in, clutching the only thing I've ever wanted.

At some point, she says my name again, and this time, when I open my eyes, she's right there.

 

Natalie looks smug.

For someone so selfless and noble, she seems to be getting plenty of satisfaction when she walks by to put my clothes on the small table beside the bed.

I have no clue what time it is. Or what day. I feel like I'd slept for ages, lulled back to sleep by the weight of Violet on my chest, and the feeling of her fingers through mine. I'd held her against me shamelessly, allowing myself the indulgence of falling asleep with her, touching her to make sure she didn't vanish.

She'd slept as well.

I'd figured she'd be wide awake. After being asleep for days, I would have assumed she had endless energy. But she was still tired, weak after being forced into a slumbering submission, and she'd fallen asleep at almost the exact same time I had.

I'd woken up to her on my chest, her hair against my cheek and her legs tangled with mine. Her feet pressing against my legs and her fingers resting against my skin. I immediately conducted my own tired, but thorough examination.

I didn't know entirely what had happened.

I didn't know if it had to do with what they had given her, or if the serum had simply worn off, but she was alive. It was obvious she'd taken a shower at some point. Her clothes were different. Her hair had been wet last night but was now dry. The oversized men's shirt swallowed her up, covering most of her, but her skin wasn't ghostly white anymore and I could feel her breathing.

She looked quiet.

Even asleep, there was a defeat to her, when there should have been a triumph. I had a thousand questions I wanted, needed, to ask her. But not yet. I make sure she stays breathing, so I lie there perfectly still, until she finally lifts her head off my chest, and her eyes widen.

I wait for the side effects to kick in. For it to be me who she saw drugging her, or for her to suddenly realize I wasn't as innocent as she'd perhaps thought.

To my relief, she doesn't panic.

She doesn't react like Jeanine said; there is no sick shriek of terror, no assumption that I'd tried to hurt her, and no memory loss. She slowly and softly says my name, so quiet I'd miss it if I weren't staring at her. She sounds like the first Violet I met, the one who'd been made to be quiet.

It causes a painful feeling in my ribs, a sharpness I'm not used to.

"Is this…this is Abnegation right? Where we are?" It's the first thing she really says, and her lips turn up ever so slightly. "Everything is grey."

My own lips curl up. "It is."

"You're here." She keeps talking, low and gentle, and her hands find my bare chest. I'd discarded Four's infant sized shirt at some point during the night, preferring to feel her against me. It was valid, tangible proof she was here, and it won out over the thought of Natalie wandering in to discover I was half dressed in her good, wholesome neighborhood.

"Yeah." I answer her seriously, and her dark eyes are big. I reach up and touch her jaw, still not completely sure she isn't a figment of my imagination. "Violet, are you…do you remember? "

She doesn't answer me. She simply waits, her stare on mine, and she nods her head. I shove her hair out of her face, the choppy ends trying to fall back, and she smiles.

"Everything, Eric."

 

 

 

She stays as quiet as ever.

Violet sits close to me, her leg touching mine, and her eyes follow Natalie around the kitchen. They occasionally stop on Andrew Prior, but not for long. Our presence is a very stark reminder that not everything is great right now. He eyes us carefully, longer than would be considered polite, and anyone could pick up on his discomfort. Violet's been given clothes to wear that still don't fit properly, and I'd dressed in my uniform that Natalie had washed for me.

He watches us sit at his kitchen table, while his wife makes us breakfast, trying to pretend our appearance isn't unusual at all.

"Are you…returning home today?" Andrew asks with unwavering politeness. His eyes fall to the heavy jacket I have on. Particularly the blue stripe on the sleeve. "Or are you staying here for a while?"

He looks at Violet, but she doesn't answer him. She's been mostly silent, staying close to me, and apparently very afraid to say anything. I can't say I blame her. As horrific as it had been, the asylum was familiar. Comfortable because she'd lived there for most of her life. Now, she'd woken up in a world of drabness, with no clue what was going on, and it had to be hard to shake all of this into place.

"We're leaving in just a bit." I answer for the both of us, trying hard not to snap at him to go do something productive. To read emails that he doesn't receive, or to discover that half the factions had no leader. Instead, I smile tightly, but the look on his face tells me it comes out as more of a sneer.

"Eric," Violet says very quietly, and her fingers find my wrist. She'd been awake for all of a few hours now. Not long enough to answer every question I had, and barely long enough for me to be certain she was okay.

But she was alive, and for now, that was good enough.

"Where are we...where will we go?"

Her words are tinier than the kitchen itself; she says them with a heaviness that reminds me she has nowhere to go. She'd told me that a few times. Marching her to Candor in an attempt to find her parents isn't an option. My guess is they wouldn't even recognize her and turning her over to them after they'd allowed her to be sentenced wouldn't happen on my watch.

Not to mention, dangerous.

Taking her to Dauntless is fine. I have no qualms about bringing her along with me, but she'd be stuck there alone when Four and I left, and she'd be on her own in the large, endless maze of our underground world. It might raise a few questions, but my options were limited.

"Yes, where will you go? Are you both heading to Dauntless?" Andrew speaks slowly, and I glare at him over the tea Natalie had given me.

"We are." I answer more loudly than necessary, enjoying the moment when he jumps at my tone. "Violet is coming with me."

"You think…that's wise?" Andrew asks, and this time, he looks right at her. "Doesn't she belong to a faction? Shouldn't she return to her home? She's not from Dauntless, is she?"

And with that, he kills whatever fleeting hope she had. His words hang in the air, a spoken reminder of what she'd told me on the fire escape. She and I both stay silent, and next to me- she visibly withers, knowing full well she does not have a faction to return to.

"No, she's not. But she's coming with me." I snap the words at him, and he must pick up on the fact that he's hit a nerve.

He blinks and immediately frowns. It's not entirely his fault. He wouldn't know that her parents had willingly handed her over, and there was no way he'd know that it was doubtful they'd be thrilled to see her return.

"My apologies." He stares at the both of us, but mostly me. "I'm not entirely up to speed with what is going on. Natalie tried to fill me in last night. But I was going to offer the option that she could stay here if she liked. Until…whatever it is you need to do is done. That way she'd be uh, comfortable and we could make sure she's alright."

"Oh." Violet exhales sharply, and her fingers tighten on my wrist.

His offer is kind.

Incredibly.

Considering it's me sitting here, with a girl that had been brought from the insane asylum drugged out of her mind, returned in the middle of the night, and we'd spent the night beneath his roof. This must have been a rather jarring disturbance in his bland life, but even I could appreciate that he would let Violet stay. For one weighted, silent moment, he waits. He occasionally looks at his wife, pretending she's not listening, until I shake my head.

"Thank you for the offer. Violet will come with me for now, and when she makes a decision on where she'd like to stay…she can maybe come back here if she would need a place to acclimate. It's very…" I pause, having a hard time finishing my sentence. "Nice of you."

The words are gritty in my mouth, and Andrew can tell. He smiles kindly, turning only because Natalie has appeared with two plates in her hands. She serves Violet and me, then returns with two more, sitting down so we all can eat.

"Violet, you're welcome back anytime." Natalie adds, and she looks right at me. "You as well, Eric."

I grow uncomfortable, almost as uneasy as the time the nurse tried to feel me up, and I realize neither Violet nor myself really know what to do with all this kindheartedness. It feels like charity, and that makes me grow angry.

"Thank you." I swallow thickly, and I realize that Four will wind up being right.

Once he helped with what I needed, I'd owe him and Natalie.

 

 

 

While he can't drive, he is prompt.

Four shows up exactly at ten. He walks through the door quickly and stops dead in his tracks to find Violet right next to me, still sitting at the table. His eyes widen in surprise at seeing her alive, and he smiles. Sort of. It looks forced, but maybe it's the fact that Violet is oddly close to me, and she immediately shrinks back when he walks in.

I idly wonder if it's the uniform.

Whatever is going on in Dauntless, Four is dressed appropriately. His uniform is sharp and dark, and it matches my own. I feel a flicker of annoyance that he's been given one that the leaders wear. Maybe he stole it. Or maybe Tori was smart enough to shove it at him and force him to wear it. Because without Max and Harrison, they'd be too busy to do it all themselves.

But to an outsider, he looks almost intimidating. His boots sound heavy on the floor, and despite being Four, he looks like he has authority. It takes me a second to remember she's never met him, only heard of him, so with great pain I introduce them.

To my delight, she seems to find him very unappealing.

 

 

 

"Why is his name a number?"

She whispers to me as Four turns the truck toward the gates of the Dauntless compound. He'd announced he was driving and I had announced we were sitting in the back. I preferred it this way; I couldn't see how maniacally he drove, and this made him seem like he was our chauffeur.

"Who the fuck knows." I mutter in response, letting her lean further into me to look out the window. "That's just one of the many questions you'll soon have about him."

"This is it?" She asks, and the gates open. They are nothing like the ones at the asylum. Ours are large and less ornate, but stronger. The men at the gate wave us through once they check Four's clearance, and he drives past them without saying much.

"It is. Welcome home." I announce dryly, but I'm watching Violet carefully. She's taking in everything; her eyes widen at the looming compound, and they widen even further when Four parks on the side of the docks. This is the least used entrance, and I know he's done us a favor by parking here. She and I will walk in through the back. The hallways and walkways will be less crowded this way, and there is little chance we'll be stopped by a curious member.

I slide out of the truck first, then walk around to open the door. For a split second, she hesitates. Her dreams of freedom have come true, but the fear is clear as day on her face. I've ripped her away from everything she's known, except with better intentions.

I stare up at her, while she stares past me, and eventually, I reach for her.

"You'll have to get out of the truck to come inside." I point out, and she takes my hand.

"The last time I got out of a truck, I was committed." She reminds me, and I step right up against the truck. I drop her hand and reach for her waist. She's doesn't flinch like I was prepared for. She leans forward, and I carefully pull her down and out of the truck. Her feet hit the ground easily, and she smiles in thanks.

"Well, luckily for you, I'm not committing anyone. In fact, if I get my way -and I will, the asylum will be shut down. Or repurposed."

"Good." She brushes her hair off her face, and frowns when Four walks around.

"Tori wants to meet with you later tonight. I told her…" he pauses, and he looks at Violet, then myself. "I told her you couldn't meet until later. I figured you'd be busy."

"We will." I answer, and I feel Violet step behind me. "Thank you. Conference room?"

"Yeah." Four answers, and he frowns when he realizes Violet doesn't like him. I smirk, because I know he's struggling with why she wants to stay away from him. "I'll call you when we have a time."

"Great." I reach for Violet, and her fingers find mine instantly. "I'll see you then."

"Okay."

Four sounds cranky now, and I stay still while he stomps on ahead. Violet eventually moves so she's standing beside me, and I look down at her.

"You ready?"

She looks up at me and smiles, really smiles. She looks completely different than a few days ago, and her grin only makes it even better. She nods her head, and to my delight, answers with far more confidence than before.

"I am."

I tighten my grip on her hand and walk her through the doors Four had just disappeared into. She stops to read the inscription above them, and her eyes watch the security scanner with great interest. She walks along with me, her eyes glued to the card I swipe, and I stop once she steps inside.

I turn to look at her, her eyes taking in the immensely high ceiling, the slick, rock walls that give way to the tunnels and I smile at her. I can only assume she doesn't think she belongs here, or anywhere really, but she has no clue that she does.

I'll make sure of it.

"Welcome to Dauntless."


	19. Actions and Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH to Bamberlee for editing this chapter so quickly after returning from Paris! I'm sorry it took me a minute to get it updated! 
> 
> Also, I had only planned on this story being twenty chapters long, so we're getting close to the end. There may be a few more, but we'll see how this one goes over. This should answer some questions and start to wind it all down. Thanks to everyone who's been reading and reviewing or gave this story a chance! 
> 
> And also, thank you to buried-in-books for your help!!

Dauntless is quiet.

Violet walks in right along with me, her arm touching mine, as she carefully steps over the rockiest of all the pathways. Bringing her in through the back of the compound was a smart move, but it meant we were walking through the roughest part of the faction. I watch her carefully, every step of the way, certain something will go wrong. One misstep meant she'd trip and wind up falling further than she could see, and one twisted turn meant she'd be lost in an underground maze, stuck in frozen hallways until I could find her.

"It's really… dark in here."

She is careful and quiet as we head further beneath the ground. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust, and her dark hair bleeds into the background.

"Is it always like this?" Violet asks when I don't answer, and her words have more meaning than she knows.

She's right. Dauntless is a dark place. Despite being protectors of the city, it is just as corrupt as the rest. Easily influenced. Easily manipulated, all for the sake of power. For years now, Dauntless had had the wrong people in power, myself included. I'd done the dirty work to further myself, and in a way, to keep my faction alive. We were less likely to be blindsided by what Jeanine wanted if we knew what she was doing, and our allegiance to her was the only thing that had kept us one step ahead.

Not anymore.

Now there was no one in charge. There was a chance if that got out, we'd be left behind as the factions quickly regrouped themselves. Missing leaders meant uncertainty. Rebellion. The tiniest cracks would shatter everything we knew.

I'd done a number to the factions in a short amount of time. Despite the blood that was shed and the chaos that was about to come, I could feel something stirring that felt right. Like we were bringing forth a rebirth that felt appropriate. Necessary. I could almost taste it, the feeling right in front of me, that things might just be okay, if I could just hold it together that long.

"It lightens up in a bit. Keep close to the wall." I guide Violet up higher, then lower. The walkways make little sense, and I think of the way they were carved out. Forced by the pressure of the Earth, of water that once rose this high, of us -trampling through here endlessly. I catch her wrist when she stumbles, the shoes Natalie had given her far too large, and she looks up at me quickly.

The expression on her face tells me this isn't at all what she expected, and as we pass what looks like a hallway to nowhere, I can tell she finds this place nightmarish.

She's right.

I know it well. To anyone walking in here from the outside, this was far more dangerous and deadly than one would expect. A quick scan of the area reveals there are few railings, few lights, and even less of a human presence. The walls are slate and high, skating up to invisible ceilings made of darkness, and cutting away to slices of alcoves and caves. Sounds echo and travel, and the blackness seems to stretch around every corner in a never-ending blanket of unease.

I'd thrived here.

For years.

The thriving was subjective; I'd lived here, spent my days working away, experiencing a few moments of pleasure mixed with doing my job. But I'd liked the dark. It was comfortable and heavy, and it held every single secret I'd carried along with me.

Even now, I can feel it wash over me. Faint, flickering shadows. Dim lights that buzz with effort as we walk beneath them. Metal staircases that spiraled and groaned when you climbed them.

Violet's eyes take it all in. She sweeps her gaze up as high as she can, to a slanted ceiling that drips icy droplets when it rains. She follows it all as we walk, her arm still brushing mine, and occasionally, her fingers grazing my own. The apprehension is all over her face, and I can't tell if it's a trick of the serum, or her logical mind hinting that I'm dragging her deep below the Earth's surface and no one knows.

"This way." I instruct her, taking great pains to make sure she notices the steps. We've been walking for a while now, just her and I. Four had vanished, headed off to find Tris and fill her in on what was going on. I imagined he'd told her what I'd done, and I imagined he'd want to bring her to meet Violet. He wasn't at all pleased that she kept her distance from him, and his fragile ego wouldn't be able to handle such a delicate creature disliking him.

That was my doing, and it had made me smirk.

"We're almost there. Watch your step through this part."

I reach for her, the action unconscious of my desire to keep her alive. Irony would be her falling into rushing waters or slipping down a crumbling stairwell all because I'd brought her here. So, I hold onto her tightly, one of my hands finding her waist, and I walk us slowly down what seems like an infinite number of steep stairs.

"Are you sure?" Violet looks up at me, and her expression is hesitant. She looks all around, and there is a sudden, bleak aura of panic radiating from her. "I didn't know Dauntless was so far underground."

I nod wordlessly.

Natalie had touched my arm as we left. She'd stopped me before I walked out her door, and she'd pressed a piece of paper into my hand. It had a phone number written in very small print, and she'd whispered it was the number to the clinic. I wasn't aware they had a phone, but Natalie spoke before I could make such a comment.

"Take this. She might have a tough time. They said she was fine, but they expect there to be some sort of side effects. Anything. She could be fearful. Terrified. Angry that you've taken her. They said it would be strange not to and if they become too much, to call them. They will help you, no questions asked."

Her hand had stayed on mine, pushing the paper at me like she knew I didn't want it.

"You can't do this alone. I'm willing to come help you if you need it. Or she can come back here. You have to promise me you won't give up on her."

I'd thanked her.

First, I'd looked for Four, out of habit now, but he was starting the truck, staring at something on his phone. I'd taken the paper with me, shoving it in my jacket pocket, and I forced myself to nod at Natalie. She was wrong but right. I couldn't do this alone, but with every person I involved, I sunk a little bit deeper into a tangled web I couldn't get out of. I supposed it was my gratefulness for what she'd done, or maybe what she'd offered, but I'd been reluctant to involve Natalie Prior any more than I already had.

Still, I'd agreed. There was a large chance Violet wouldn't adjust just like Dr. Erin had told me. Maybe she had been telling the truth. I hoped Violet would be fine, but having a back up plan wasn't a terrible idea.

"We are. But it's safe. No one can get in here if they don't belong."

We stop in the middle of a vast space, and the light filters down in sporadic, lazy beams. I watch things float down from the ceiling. Dust, specks of snow, drops of dirty, melted water. Violet stands right in front of me, and her eyes are darker than ever.

"Not even the people from…" She pauses, and I nod.

I know what she's worried about.

But they won't find her here.

They wouldn't make it this far.

And if they'd try, I'd hide her. I had other options now, and even if I didn't care for all of them, I would use them if it came to it.

"No. Even if they try, I'll keep you safe. You can stay here as long as you'd like." I raise my eyebrow at her, and my stomach tightens.

The side effects that Natalie spoke of start slowly, as Violet's shoulders begin to shake and she nods her head.

 

 

Four manages to wait a whole five minutes before he calls.

I don't remember ever giving him my phone number, but he has it, and he utilizes it the minute he deems it necessary. Which is far sooner than I'd like.

He asks that I meet him and Tori sooner rather than later, and he insists on sending Tris to stay with Violet.

I hate all of his words with a burning passion, but I'm pacified by the thought that I was right.

He'll do his best to make himself the hero of his own story, even if it means helping me.

 

 

 

Our tour of the faction is brief.

Mostly because the side effects that Natalie warned me about kick in, just enough for me to pick up on them.

Violet sways between wanting to be as close to me as possible and looking like she might bolt. I remain as patient as I can, though I want to scream that she'll be fine. Running in the opposite direction won't do her any good. She'll only wind up lost, sucked into the deepest parts of the compound where not many venture. She'd be lost, and while I wouldn't hunt her down like a criminal, I'd have to find her at some point.

I do my best to show her what I can, with the minimal time I have. I point out the Pit, the mess hall, an entire floor of shops and small, edgy businesses that fulfill any desire one could possibly have. I show her the fastest way to get to the stairs, the fastest way to find someone if she gets lost, and I cut our tour short when she wraps her arms around herself and steps so close to me that I nearly trip over her.

Her expression is overwhelmed, but perfectly understandable.

Coming from a hospital where she rarely left a single floor, having an entire compound at your fingertips would make anyone's head spin. She's suddenly careful not to touch me, but she sticks by my side as we walk up the stairs, and I show her which apartment is mine.

She feels like a ghost as I unlock the door, and I step into the dark apartment I'd left days ago.

My bones ache as she follows slowly, so slowly, I'm not certain she will.

 

 

 

"Who are you going to kill next? Tori? Johanna? Me?"

Four starts the meeting with a bang. I had little desire to be here, because it had taken everything in me to leave Violet behind. She'd become nervous, her limbs shaky and her movements slow. She'd taken in my apartment with wide eyes, looking terrified to touch anything. Like this was all a trap. A bad dream. A trick of her mind. It was obvious she was afraid, but every so often she'd look up at me, and her eyes were clear. She'd blinked when I told her Tris would be there in a few minutes, and promised she wasn't anywhere near as terrible as Four.

It was fleeting, but Violet had smiled. Slightly. Almost. Her lips had done their best to turn up, and I was rewarded with a glimpse of the girl who'd sat next to me, reading a book in the safety of my shadow. The one who'd tricked me into falling asleep next to her because she had all the blankets. The one who'd given me a friendship bracelet, her fingers skimming over the skin of my wrist as she tied it.

This fear wasn't her.

It was a chemical product of the serum, and we'd have to ride it out until it was gone. Hopefully, this was it, but if it wasn't, I'd work through them.

The way she looked at me told me she expected otherwise.

I'd left her sitting on the couch, just as Tris knocked on my door. I'd opened it unenthusiastically, to the pale stare of Tris Prior. If I had to rank someone I disliked just as much as Four, it would be Tris. It was fitting they had found each other. Both seemed to think highly of themselves, and despite choosing to come here, they'd tried to change everything about it they could, growing irritable when it hadn't worked in their favor.

Even then, on a mission to help me, Tris frowned. Her lips pressed together tightly as she tried to look past me, and her bug like eyes blinked in annoyance. When I didn't let her in, she sighed and told me Four was waiting.

Then, she'd looked right at me, and I swear, she'd looked like she wanted to punch me.

She probably did.

For a few reasons.

The first would be for involving her. Then for dragging Four along with me. I want to grab her by the throat, pressing my fingers in tight enough that the life would slowly drain out of her eyes, and point out that unfortunately for me, I had no desire to involve her. None of this was my own idea. She was simply another person added to the mix, sticky fingers in my business because Four had insisted.

"Fuck off."

I'd hissed at her, just as her eyes found Violet sitting on the couch. I suppose anyone would have been concerned; Violet looked nervous, and she was staring at Tris suspiciously. I knew right then and there Tris wouldn't be staying, and Four's grand plans for them to be friends were a flop.

I'd made the decision to tell Tris to leave. There was no point in forcing an introduction, and there was no reason the Stiff needed to hang out in my apartment. I'm sure she'd try to lure Violet back home with her, thinking she knew better than I did, but she was wrong.

Oh so wrong.

I had promised Violet I'd be right back. I told her she could do whatever. Take a shower. Take a nap. Sit on the couch and read whatever she could find. Go through my cabinets. I wasn't well prepared for a visitor, but it didn't matter.

She was welcome to whatever I had, and I'd make sure I wasn't gone long.

She'd nodded and her stare was glued to me. Tris had left with one deeply concerned scowl on her face, and I'd locked the door behind me.

"Eric!"

Tris had called out my name, but I ignored her.

"Hey!"

She'd followed me until I reached the stairs, then gave up when I didn't answer her. I watched her backtrack, and there was no doubt she'd go back to my apartment and try to get Violet to open up the door. I didn't have time to kill her, nor did I think Four would still help me if I did, so I let her go. It was unlikely Violet would open the door, but if she did, it would be her own choice to talk to Tris.

That felt better to me.

Once I arrived at the conference room, Four had wasted no time getting started. I'd taken a seat in the same chair where I'd once critiqued his every move. I'd plotted his downfall. Mocked his trainings. Now, I sit across from him, wearing the same jacket he has on, and I listen to the words he blurts out as quickly as he can. He's antsy, worked up at the events that played out before him, and it shows on his face.

"Did you hear me? Is it me? Marcus? Andrew? Am I missing anyone or did you already kill every leader you could?"

I listen to him, squawking away, and I sigh heavily.

"Eric?" He barks at me when I don't answer, and I shrug my shoulders.

"Nah, you're good for now. Remember, I still have one more thing I need your help with." I pause, forcing myself to smile brightly. "But then I'll kill you. Is that okay? Does it make it better if you know ahead of time?"

His face turns red at my response, and every ounce of politeness in him vanishes. "You son of a-"

"Okay, both of you knock it off. This isn't going to work if you can't put aside whatever it is you two are having a pissing contest over." Tori flashes me a dirty look, and I roll my eyes.

"He started it." I point out as pettily as possible, and Four turns bright red as the rage becomes too much. "I was answering his questions. I can kill him later. I still need his help." I pause and look right at him. "For now."

"I quit." Four slams his fist down on the table and I can't help but laugh. "I'm not helping you anymore."

"Fine." I answer easily. "I'll let Violet know you don't want to help. She'll be crushed, but you do whatever helps you sleep at night."

He visibly flinches, and I smile in faux innocence at him. My words were only to piss him off. Violet wouldn't care if he dropped over dead. While his help will make things easier for me, at the end of the day, I'd do it all myself if I had to. But for him, refusing to help the very girl he's suddenly crusading for, makes him look like an ass.

Tori is not impressed with either of us.

"Both of you shut up. You're acting like idiots. Eric, on your orders, we brought Max here. Harrison is dead. Jeanine is dead, obviously. Her body was taken to the asylum. Jack is there with her, and I'm assuming he's alive. You went and got Violet, now please, fill us in. We have multiple factions that will eventually realize they don't have anyone in charge. I know you want to…do whatever you're doing with Violet, but we have to have a plan before this gets out."

Beside her, Reggie nods. "Come on dude. You gotta tell us what's up. You need something else? Then just say the word. We got you."

The room falls quiet. Tori nods her head, but Four shoots him one clearly disapproving look. I can't figure out if it's Reggie's enthusiasm, ready to kill at my command, or his involvement that pisses him off. Or this entire past few days.

It's probably everything.

"Do tell us. What's next Eric?" Four asks, and I recline back in my chair.

"Fine. You and I are leaving tomorrow. In the morning. We'll be in Candor for most of the day. I'll need you armed, and ready to shoot on my command. The rest of you can oversee Dauntless. We'll need two leaders to replace Max and Harrison, though you may want to hurry up and get started on the selection process now." I watch all of them and I think fast. "Candor will hold an election once Four and I leave. I'll make sure they know they'll be forced to find a new leader, though I suggest we take a long hard look at the candidates and see if any of them will be easy to work with. Maybe tell them we'll have a hand in it to ensure we don't have a repeat of Jack's ulterior motives. Until then, we'll oversee the factions if needed. After tomorrow, I predict things will be quiet."

"Oh really?" Four snaps, not liking my plan at all. "Tomorrow will be quiet?"

"Yes." I stare right at him. "They'll work to find someone to take over. Nothing will happen."

"They won't notice they don't have someone in charge? Or ask where Jack went? Why he resigned? Did you have him turn that in?" Four looks angry enough that he could levitate out of his seat.

"Would you?" I snap right back at him, and I could murder Tori for asking for his help. "If you woke up tomorrow, and Max and Harrison were gone, would you notice things were different? No. You wouldn't. You'd go about your day just like normal, until something happened that made you realize you hadn't seen them. Unless Jack was hosting daily, factional meetings or making hourly announcements, no one will realize he's missing until I tell them. No one's said anything so far, have they?"

I hiss the last part, and he sulks in his chair.

"Fine. What about Erudite?" Four sighs. "Jeanine's emails are still coming to my phone. We can oversee it remotely, but didn't anyone notice they took her body from her office?"

"Actually, no." Reggie helpfully and rather cheerfully offers up. "The asylum came and got her not too long after we called them. Covered her up. No one really knew who they took out. We took her keycards and locked her door once they were done."

"Send me Jeanine's emails." I instruct, and Four still doesn't look enthused at my suggestions. "The ones that require her response. Let's keep her alive in Erudite for a few days longer."

Reggie doesn't even bother to hide his grin.

"You gonna play Jeanine? Like a zombie puppet?"

"Sure. I can tell you what she'd approve or not approve. They won't notice. She spent plenty of time locked up in her office. It wouldn't be unusual for her not to be seen."

"Are you sure no one noticed it was her?" Four doesn't look convinced. "No one found it suspicious someone came to get a dead body out of her office?"

"No." I answer flatly, sounding irritated and impatient. There's a lot he doesn't know, despite what he thinks. I just don't have the luxury of filling him in at this second. "Trust me on this. You don't know what she did behind closed doors. That isn't the first dead body that's left her labs or her office. It's routine for them to see people come in alive and not leave. You don't have to worry."

"Oh." Four answers, and he sounds surprised. Then disturbed. He looks right at me, and I can see his brain whirling as he finishes up his mental debate, and I can see the exact moment he gives in. "Alright. So, you and I are leaving tomorrow? In the morning?"

"Yeah." I look right at him, and I make sure he doesn't look away. "I'll fill you in tonight. Or tomorrow morning."

"Why me?" He demands. "Why not have Reggie help you?"

I smile.

Widely.

"You gave me your word you'd help. After we're done, keep your jacket on." I cock my eyebrow at him, and he narrows his eyes at what I'm implying. "Actually, keep the whole uniform. You'll need it. You can pick whatever office you want."

"Oh no." He shakes his head a few times, and stares darkly at everyone in the room. "I don't want that. I have no interest in overseeing this faction with you. You and I both know…"

"You will soon." I slide my chair back, and I make sure he's looking right at me. "Just wait."

He watches me leave with a heavy expression, and I do my best to pretend I can't see him. He'd been offered this job long ago, and he'd have been smart to take it. I never thought there would be a day when I'd want to see him step up, but I also never thought there'd be a day when I actually needed his help. I grow angry as I walk out of the office and realize that while I can force him into it if I push hard enough, my words are a sort of kind gesture.

If I were capable of such a thing.

He's seen enough to know there's more going on than he'd ever thought, and this is his chance to fix it. He'll have a voice in this position of authority, one that'll have an impact. If he can pull his head out of his ass, he'll realize I'm giving him his second chance, and he better not blow it.

I can hear him yelling in the background, and I have little doubt he'll wind up taking it.

 

 

 

I return home to a quiet apartment.

I half expected Violet to have fled, her fear stronger than her willpower. Fear was a rotten feeling, and it was the same as the peace serum. Slow and heavy, easy to give into, unrelenting- no matter how much you resisted.

To my relief, I find her sitting on my bed.

In my shirt.

She looks up at me in surprise when I walk through the door. Her hair is wet, and my shirt doesn't fit, but she looks a thousand times better. She'd looked alright at Natalie's house, panicky once we entered Dauntless, ill while we walked through the compound, but now, she looks like Violet.

Her eyes are still too wide and too dark, but I can no longer tell someone had hacked the end of her hair, and her limbs aren't as ghostly as they once were. There is a quiet determination behind her eyes, even if it's mixed with the worry that this might not work.

It might not.

I'm not stupid.

She might not want to stay in this cold, dark place. I couldn't keep her here if she didn't want to stay, but I wanted to. I wanted her to slide beneath my sheets, to sleep next to me, until the memory of where we'd both spent time was gone forever. I wanted her to be just fine, no lingering side effects and no drawn out complications. There was a lot I wanted, and the reality of the situation was I could do whatever I pleased, and she knew it.

I'd be no better than those who sentenced her, or the boy in the forest who tried to take what wasn't his, but here, no one would stop me. I had authority in Dauntless, spoken and unspoken. I could never let her leave if that's what I thought was right, and there was no one who'd tell me otherwise.

These thoughts felt familiar; an Eric who took what he wanted without thinking. I didn't feel like that anymore, but I couldn't deny that if she left, I wasn't sure I wanted to keep fighting the fight I'd started.

"You're back."

She speaks first, and her voice is much stronger than before.

I step closer to her, away from the door frame and into my room. I notice she's turned every light on in an attempt to drive away the darkness. She watches me shrug off the uniform jacket and toss it onto the dresser without looking. The shirt she had on earlier is there, neatly folded, and her borrowed shoes sit next to my closet.

"Yeah. I tried to keep the meeting short. Four will talk all night if you let him, which is why no one ever does." I reach for the belt on my pants, and she cocks her head to the side.

"You guys don't get along at all, do you?" She watches me unbuckle it, and I toss it next to the jacket. It lands with a thud, loud in what suddenly feels like a small room, and she blinks at the noise.

"No." I answer, and I kick my boots off with ease. "He and I have some history. Tori got him involved when she pretended to be my fiancée, and now I can't get rid of him."

"I remember her. He's still helping you?" In this low, warm lighting, Violet looks absolutely normal. Her hair falls to her shoulder, and her gaze is innocently glued to me. I feel embarrassingly relieved that she seems to have moved past the shaky waves of terror, and I thank a nameless deity that that was it. What I am assuming was the worst of it.

"He is." I watch her as I pull the black shirt over my head. "He's going to help me with a few more things, then we can part ways until absolutely necessary."

"You talked about him back at…" Violet pauses, the word too painful to actually say. "Back where we were."

I smirk, because she's right. I had brought him up. I'd felt it a suitable setting for him, and had the roles been reversed, I would have found the situation hysterical. Appropriate. Just what he needed to work through his issues.

"It bothers him that you don't seem to like him. He's waiting for you to acknowledge how kind hearted he is." I walk toward the bed, and Violet sits up straighter.

"I don't even know him. I don't have a single reason to trust him." She looks up at me, and her shirt shifts as she raises her hand. I'm surprised when her fingers touch mine, and she pulls me toward her. "Do you trust him?"

"No."

I answer firmly, but it's not entirely true. I have no choice but to trust that he'll stick to his word, because of who he is.

"But I'm trying."

I tighten my fingers through hers, and we stay there, until my phone begins to ring.

I break away to answer it, and I'm rewarded with paranoia at its finest.

Four refuses to speak to me over the phone, even though he's the one who called. I grit my teeth as I watch Violet climb beneath my covers, until she's swallowed up by the dark fabric of the comforter.

"Can you just meet me? This could be…tapped."

"By who?" I ask dryly, not even wanting to think about who would suddenly have bugged either of our cell phones, especially in the past hour. I wander into the bathroom, and I brush my teeth while he tries to come up with a reason why he can't just tell me what he wants. It takes him minutes to get out that he thinks someone watched us when we left, and I roll my eyes while I spit out my toothpaste. "Spies from Erudite? You're starting to sound a little crazy, you know."

"Funny." Four answers just as dryly, and he sighs. Loudly. "Look, it'll take ten minutes. Meet me in the Pit. I want to know what you have planned for tomorrow."

"Fine." I snarl at him, and I hang up before he can say anything else. I glare at the phone, then I turn it off completely, walking back into my bedroom. I set it on my nightstand, and I feel marginally better knowing he can't get ahold of me.

"Was that…him?" Violet asks, and I smile at her refusing to call him by his name. "What did he want?"

"It was him." I answer easily, and I unzip my uniform pants. "He thinks we should meet. But I'm not going anywhere. I don't answer to him. He can wait until morning."

I walk over to my own bed, the same place where I'd had several nights of shitty sleep while I wondered if she was still alive. Where I'd wondered what I could have done differently. Wondered why she'd chosen to befriend me, out of all the people in the asylum. I wondered where Pete and Bobby were. Where Aidy had run off to. I wonder if any of them are still alive, and a heaviness washes over me.

I hadn't known them long, but it bothered me that they might not have made it.

I push that shitty string of thoughts away, and I climb into bed, keeping a good distance away from Violet. I'm fully prepared to give her all the space she wants. I'd slept with her against my chest in Abnegation, but that feels like years ago. I'd watched the slow effects emerge, and even now I can feel her heart racing. I close my eyes, and I try to ignore the fact that my hands have balled into fists as I resign myself to just going the fuck to sleep and dealing with everything tomorrow.

They unclench when she moves over, and her head finds my chest.

Just like in Abnegation.

Her hands find mine, her legs twist and push until she's close to me, and I swear neither of us stay awake longer than another minute.

I fall asleep with one of my hands in her hair, and the other on her back.

 

 

 

To no one's surprise, Four looks livid when I see him.

"I waited for you." He grits out the words between clenched teeth, and he looks like he might shoot me. "For an hour. I tried to call you. I-"

"Sorry, I was busy." I tell him, and I grab his arm. I yank him forward with me, and he jerks his arm away from me immediately, throwing me one nasty look right back. "I'll explain everything on the way."

"Oh great." He mocks me, and he stares darkly as we walk past the guards waiting for us. They wave us through, not even asking for identification or clearance. "Wonderful. This just keeps getting better and better."

I ignore him.

I decide to drive, and I smile when he climbs in the passenger side and slams the door as hard as he possibly can.

 

 

 

Candor is quiet.

The silence is heavenly, though odd for a faction who can't shut up.

I park the truck close to where Four parked last time, and we get out wordlessly. He nods in my general direction, and points to the large, glassy building. The air shifts, and the breeze feels dry and brittle.

"You ready?" He asks when I glance over at him.

I wasn't, but I'd never let that stop me before.

 

 

Derek does not appreciate our visit.

He doesn't appreciate the way we walked right in, throwing his office door wide open, nor the way we took seats right across from his desk without bothering to say a single word to him.

He immediately looked uncomfortable.

I'm sure, that as the son of Jack's right hand man, he'd noticed things weren't exactly right in Candor. Jack was gone, last seen walking out of the building in defeat, or maybe getting shot if you'd watched closely enough. I'm sure he noticed that Jack hadn't returned, his office dark and silent since he was last in it. I'm positive he realized the faction had just been existing in lawless order, and his own father hadn't shown up to work in a few days.

I'm sure he knew our arrival wasn't good, but he pretended otherwise.

"Can I help you?"

He narrows his eyes at us, and he sounds nothing like I'd imagined. Violet had described him as being older than her, but he looks far older than she does. Older than me. Like keeping the secret of what he'd done had taken a toll on him. His eyes were rotten, a dull brown color that darkened when Four shifted in his seat. His skin was pale in a sickly way, and though he was fit, his desk job had worn away at the youthfulness he once had.

As much as it pained me to admit it, I had feared he would remind me of myself.

Not that I'd ever harm Violet, nor anyone in the way he had. I'd taken plenty of things that weren't mine, but I drew the line at assaulting women who wanted nothing to do with me. It was with great, heavy relief did I realize I'm nothing like him, that despite all pretenses and the hellish acts I had committed, I wasn't him.

I was my own monster.

But there was a chance to fix that, if I wanted to.

Somewhere.

But there is none with Derek.

I can see it in the way he immediately sits up straight, dismissing Four and I as he reaches for his phone.

"I don't know who you are, but I'm very busy. I don't have any scheduled meetings with anyone from Dauntless, so I'll have to ask you to leave and come back when you're on the books." His voice is slick, wavering only when Four smiles. "Who let you in here? Where's the receptionist?"

"Put the phone down. Now. You'll have your chance to make a phone call." Four says the words slowly, and to Derek's credit, his fingers leave the phone in place. He focuses on the both of us, weighing his options. His eyes flick from the heavy doors we'd walked through to Four's gun, and judging from the way he leans back, he's unarmed.

"Alright. I suppose there's a reason you just…stopped by. If you could be so kind as to clue me in…" Derek stares at me, and his eyes narrow. "Aren't you…"

"We're here to talk about Violet. I suggest you answer everything we ask, and we'll make this as quick as possible." I smile tightly, and Four cocks his head to the side as Derek freezes.

Four had read her file.

I'd thrown it at him in the truck, and he'd thrown it right back at me, hissing that he knew all about Violet. He'd snarled that he knew everything, that Tori had given him all the info she could. That he'd done his own research, and because we'd involved him, he was forced to mull over this act of violence that had no consequence.

Until now.

But he'd missed something, something I had missed as well, until I'd really thought about it.

Derek was alive.

I'd almost missed it when we spoke with Jack. Jack had brought him up easily, too easily, slipping up as he told us Derek was working in Candor. That the man who was responsible for Violet being committed was alive and well. Sitting in an office, working his days away like nothing had happened. I'd listened as he said it a few times, until I was certain he wasn't lying.

I had my suspicions, especially considering Violet's version of the story was filled with shock and terror and an unreliable memory after years of therapy and treatment, that there was more to it. But I had no reason to doubt her. She was honest with what she told me, and she had been since the very start.

When we'd come to talk with him, he'd told me everything I needed to know. Through my own research, I'd figured out how simple this all had been, and how easily Jack had swept it under the rug.

Violet had been attacked by Derek, all while Owen watched. She had pushed him away from her, and he had hit his head. The medical records I'd managed to find, all thanks to Jeanine's log in, showed this as an unidentified male suffering from an unknown accident. Things were kept vague, only documenting his treatment and the recommended after care.

After Owen had fetched Niles, Jack had a dilemma on his hands. Niles had been not only a confidant and illustrious work colleague, but a faithful friend. Jack's morals swung from side to side as he was presented with the worst scenario possible; he'd either prosecute his friend's son for assault – ripping off the neat and tidy reputation Candor had, or he'd let the blame fall to the hysterical girl who was brought before him.

At Nile's pleading, Jack had allowed her to believe she'd committed murder. It wasn't hard; she'd been worked up beyond return at what had happened and seeing an unconscious Derek only furthered her belief that he was dead.

In return, her story cleared Derek from his charges.

I'd never know for sure, but there was little doubt he'd drugged her until she told him the truth, and when he realized he had something to work with, Jack had neatly cleaned it up to make it work for his friend. He sent Violet away, taking great pains to ensure she she was out of sight and out of mind, and other than the few involved in making sure she no longer existed, no one knew.

He made sure of it.

Once he was sure Owen and Derek were onboard, the file was sent to Dauntless. Had anyone really looked through it, they would've noticed it was missing huge chunks of information, and because it landed on an overworked soldier's desk marked as resolved, it was quickly passed on. No one in Dauntless would care too much about a mundane accident that affected a single person, and with Violet gone and Jack's silence on the matter, it was buried beneath other paperwork.

The only hang up had been the struggle of her mother and father to sign her over.

Their shaky signatures told me this had been hard for them. Perhaps they'd thought it over for some time, but ultimately, they'd still done it. On Jack's insistence, they turned on their own child, leaving her to fend for herself in a place where she had no chance of survival. They'd sworn her off, pretending she had never existed, and never looked back.

Further digging had shown that they were paid off. That Violet's father was given quite a few bonuses during his time working in Candor, and her mother no longer worked. They lived in a nicer area of Candor, reaping the benefits of what Derek had done.

They'd lived normal lives since then.

So had Derek.

Having gotten away with everything, he lived a routine life in Candor. On paper, his existence was black and white. Once his head had healed, thanks to an anonymous trip to an anonymous surgeon to take care of any lingering issues, and a few years of therapy, he'd gone on to be absolutely fine. He had a wife. Two kids. An apartment with a nice view. A cushy job, working as a processor for all of Jack's trials. He was neatly tucked away into the folds of the faction, living out a lie, signing his name on the legal documents just as easily as they'd signed away Violet.

I'd wondered if his wife knew what he'd done, or that beneath his dark hair, lie stitches that hid the fractured story he'd woven.

"Violet?" Derek repeats, and his face relaxes considerably. "I haven't heard that name in years. Did she finally…" He pauses, making a slicing motion across his throat. "Did she lose it? For a long time we got the updates on her, but I never thought anything would come of it."

It takes everything in me to stay seated.

"You uh, you know her?" I play dumb, leaning back in my chair to force the appearance of not wanting to rip his throat out. "You know where she is?"

"Yeah, the fucking nuthouse." Derek laughs, and he shakes his head. "I'm assuming they sent you here because she's dead. We all knew it would happen eventually. Are you here because they need to contact…someone? They should have some sort of information for her."

"No." Four answers sharply, and I throw him a dirty look. "Who would they try to contact? Doesn't she have-"

"Right." Derek interrupts quickly, reaching for his laptop. He opens it up, hesitating when Four leans forward, and shakes his head. "Relax. I'm looking up her parents. They're both alive. I don't think they'll want to know what happened or see her. But uh, you could always call them. They might want to know she didn't make it out of there. They have another daughter now. She's..."

"Was she ever going to get out of there?" I ask before I can stop myself. I find him disturbingly slimy, especially when he lets out a huff of laughter.

"Wait…do you know her?" He pauses, leaning forward. "Hold up, aren't you… aren't you the one Jeanine sent out the alert about? A while ago. Were you there? You were, weren't you?" Derek pauses to stare at me, and the discomfort from before creeps back in. "You look different now than you did in the photo, but it had to be you. They said someone from Dauntless was sentenced there, and you were a highly wanted criminal for your crimes against the factions. Is that how you know her?"

I smile tightly.

His words are ironic, all things considered.

"I was there." I inform him, and I cross one ankle over my leg. "And yes, I knew her well. I mean, as well as you can know someone…in an insane asylum."

Four clears his throat.

"Yeahhh. That's rough you were there. I got the email that you'd been rehabilitated." Derek smiles, and clicks out of the screen he'd been on. "Were you on the same floor as her? I'm sure you read the files once you got out."

"I did." I watch him, and Four seems to have forgotten he's supposed to be breathing. "We both did. Which is why we're here. We have a few questions over some discrepancies in what happened."

Derek's head snaps over at me.

His gaze grows dark, as the secrets of what he's been hiding slowly crawl their way up his neck.

"What kind of discrepancies?"

"There were a few holes in the story. Enough that we felt the need to come and find you."

"I'm sure she told you some crazy shit. Because she was crazy." He insists. "What does this have to do with me?"

"I think you know." I stare at him until he flinches. "How does it feel to have risen from the dead? Want to tell us how you nailed that little trick?"

His fingers reach for the phone. The action is reflexive, and he stops when Four tilts his head at him.

"Look…okay, yeah you got me. I know what she told you. I wasn't dead. But that wasn't my doing. I wasn't even conscious. The last thing I knew, she was shoving me away from her and I was bleeding from my head. I wasn't there when they sentenced her." His defense is half hearted, an easy way out of a situation he'd caused.

"You didn't dispute it, though. At some point, you were well enough to hear the outcome of what had happened? You must have been alright with it." I shrug slightly, waiting for Derek's answer.

"She would have ruined my life." He says lowly, doing his best to remain calm. "I'm sure you can understand. My whole family would have been affected. My father, my mother-"

"All because she said no?" Four's spine is straight, and his tone is sharp. "You ruined her life because she turned you down?"

"What do you want me to say? You want me to tell you I'm sorry? I'm not. She deserved it." Derek suddenly laughs, whether out of nervousness or pure vileness. "She made a fool out of me. She was no one important and she had no right to do that. I gave her another chance and she fucked it up. She ruined her own life."

His logic makes perfect sense to him. I can tell.

"When you were there with her, did she tell you I came to see her? Several times." Derek's face lights up, and he snickers "I went to see if she was really there. I thought they were shitting me when they gave her that sentencing. But I went, and oh did it fuck with her. The first few times she didn't see me. But then, one visit, she did. You should have seen the look of horror on her face when I walked in. The panic when they let me talk to her. Alone. Just her and I."

He stops, and he tilts his head to the side like he's just thought of something.

"How long were you there?"

"Long enough." I retort.

"Did you fuck her while you were there? You did, didn't you?" He winks at me, and my skin feels like it could crawl right off me. "I'll bet you did. I'm sure you were lonely in that shit hole. When I went to visit, there were a few others who were hot, but they're all insane. Every last one of them. I get it, though. Lots of guys liked her there. But she was too lost in her own mind to notice. I told her she should take some of them up on their offers. Live a little. She was so uptight, even there."

I reach the end of my patience. I'd been sitting here nicely this entire time. I could understand his logic of not being awake while she was sentenced, but the more he speaks, the more I realize she had every reason to be afraid of him. He was the worst kind of monster, one who'd never truly understand what he'd done.

"Do you think it was because you attacked her? Maybe that's why she had a hard time…living a little." Four says the words before I can, and his knuckles are white. "Or maybe it was whatever they gave her to prevent her from telling anyone what you did and how you got her locked up there."

I give Four credit, because Derek freezes. His expression changes slowly as he realizes we aren't here to report her death. He'd been assuming we were here to find the last link to Violet, but he's slowly figuring out we are not.

We're here for him.

"What? I…I told you...that wasn't my doing…" He fumbles over his words, looking wildly left and right as he picks up his phone. "Who let you two in here?"

"How's Owen?" I ask, and he blanches. His phone slips from his fingers and hits the floor with a thud. He struggles with the decision to pick it up, but I wag my finger at him. "He said to tell you hello."

I lie easily, but it works. Derek jerks himself upright, like he's seen a ghost.

"Owen…that guy's not right in the head. I'm telling you, none of them are. Did you come here because of some story she told you? You really believe a mental patient? One who…who…" He pauses, and his next words are frantic. "She was drugged. Heavily. Every report came back with an increased dosage that they recommended. Jack told me she never got better. But Owen…was my friend. He did nothing wrong. But now, now he's nuts. He believed her."

"He covered your ass." I smile. "Until the guilt got to him. Did you visit him there, too?"

"Once." Derek answers and his skin takes on a shiny, sweaty sheen. "Just once. He uh, he wanted to talk with Jack. He wanted me to bring him there. For some session."

"Did you?" Four snaps, and I silently tell him to calm the fuck down. "Did you take Jack there?"

"No." Derek shakes his head furiously. "Look, I served my time, okay. You want answers, here. I'll give them to you. She was young, I was young. I liked her. I thought she liked me. I guess I misread the signals. I ran into her in the woods and she pushed me…and I…I'm the one who wound up half dead. So yeah, she deserved to be sentenced. I did my own time. Two years of hell to remember my left from my right. Two years of doctor's visits and therapists and people wondering what had happened to me. Two years before I got to come back here."

"How horrible for you." I mock him. "While she was rotting away in a mental institution, you went on just fine with your life."

"Look, if you're trying to reopen this case, I can't allow that. I'll shut it down and Jack will back me. She's been there forever. She wouldn't even remember…"

"Does your wife know?" I ask, leaning in toward him. "Does she know that you have a history of violent assault? That you went after a thirteen year old girl, and when she turned you down, you lost it?"

Derek's face turns red, the anger seeping up as he realizes he's trapped. "No. She has nothing to do with this."

His answer is hoarse.

Four shakes his head and looks over at me before looking back at Derek.

"Why did Jack cover for you?"

"It wasn't me, I told you. It was my dad. He was there when Jack fucked up. Jack was working on something with Jeanine and he liked some ideas she had. He wanted…more power, I guess, so he agreed to send her anyone she asked for without question. My dad said he sent her people who needed her help. At first, it was just a few people here and there. Some ladies who had nervous breakdowns at work. People who…who felt like life was overwhelming. People no one would notice. A receptionist. The guy who works as our security guard. The girl who types all our notes. For a while, it was good. But eventually, Jeanine wanted more. She wanted ten, fifteen people a day and Jack couldn't do it. Our members were getting suspicious, and…my father figured out what he was doing when his own secretary returned in a daze and told him she'd been shocked until she couldn't remember her own name. My father told Jack if he didn't help me, he'd let everyone know what was going on and Jack would lose everything."

Derek stops, and his eyes find mine.

"I'm sure you can guess the rest. He agreed. Shortly after, Jeanine eased up on Jack. Turned her focus elsewhere. I forgot all about it, honestly. I came back to Candor and was offered a job. I took it. I didn't know what else to do." He pauses to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, and his inhale is shaky. "Where's Jack now? Do you have him?"

"He's being taken care of." I answer, and my tone is dark.

"What does that mean?" Derek shoves his chair back abruptly and the panic is clear as day. "What did you do to him? Why are you two here?"

"To find you." I answer quickly, and Four and I both stand up. "To make sure you pay for what you did. It's only fair, isn't it? Jack's serving his time for covering for you, but now it's your turn. I'm sure Violet will appreciate your sacrificing yourself so she can move on."

Derek reacts instantly. He moves to flee from his office, but I'm faster. I'm in front of him before he can utter a word, and my fist finds his face.

"Fuck." He swears loudly, recoiling back in an attempt to get away from me. I give him half a second to regroup, before I grab him by his neck.

"Did it feel good? When you went to visit her?" The words come out of my mouth before I can stop myself from making this personal. It was personal, and it had been all along. The minute Violet had helped me survive my time in the asylum, it had become personal. Even if she'd gotten out, she'd never be able to find him, never be able to get him to admit what he did, but I would.

And I'd make sure my face was the last thing he saw.

"Fuck, let me go." Derek writhes, doing his best to elbow me. He throws his limbs wildly, untrained and sloppy attempts to hit me. "She's not worth it."

He gasps out the last part, right before his face smashes into his desk.

The blood splatter is immediate and artful; it sprays across his papers, seeping onto whatever he'd been working on. I pick him back up, the blood trickles down his face and onto the collar of his pristine white shirt.

"Sto…ppp." He gasps, but I don't.

His fingers claw at me, blunt nails trying to scrape at my skin, but I feel nothing. Only a blind rage that soothes my urge to rip his head off instead of dragging this out.

"She is worth it. That's why you did it, isn't it?"

I slam his head down again, and this time, there is a satisfactory crack. His muffled gasp of 'help' or 'please' is lost when it comes down a third time, and my hands are wet and sticky when his eyes shut.

Four watches the entire thing from the doorway, making sure no one comes in.

"Is he dead?"

"Almost." I answer easily, my heart beating too quickly for my liking. I was about to kill him in cold blood, his murder determined before I'd even arrived here. He deserved it, far more than anyone I'd ever met, and Four had agreed with me.

Surprisingly.

I didn't need his reassurance on such a matter, but there was some justice in the fact that he'd sided with me.

I can still see the look on his face when I told him I was going to kill Derek, and he'd nodded his head.

"Then we should go. Finish what you're doing, and let's get out of here." Four instructs, and I smile.

I slam Derek's face down one more time, hard enough that his neck snaps with a pop, and his fingers twitch. The desk is now a complete disaster. His blood is everywhere, his papers have been knocked all over the place, and his laptop has blood dripping down the screen. I nod at Four, and he stalks over, picking up the laptop and quickly folding it shut. He puts it under his arm and looks right at me.

"One more time. Just for good measure."

The last slam does it. Derek's hair is soaked and damp, once again with his own blood, and his body lies lifelessly across his desk. I leave him there, making sure his breathing has stopped completely before I step away.

Four and I leave in silence. He shuts the door behind us, the laptop still under his arm, and we walk down to the lobby of the quiet office building.

There is hardly anyone here. Almost everyone is at lunch, and the receptionist, a blonde haired girl with a bored look on her face, is oblivious to the violence that has occurred upstairs.

She's talking with Niles, batting her eyes at him as he returns to work after using his last remaining vacation days. I hear her warmly welcome him back, asking him how his vacation was. His gaze skates over us curiously, our presence of mild concern to him, and I only wish I could be there when he finds his son in his office.

 

 

"What did you do?"

Violet stands with me in the bathroom, helping to deftly scrub the blood off my hands.

She hadn't batted an eye when I walked back in, but I suppose a lifetime in a mental institution had made her resilient to such sights. She'd followed me into the bathroom, watching as I took off my uniform, and tossed it on the ground. There was blood all over it. It was easy to miss on the dark fabric, but I could feel the dampness of it as I drove back.

I'd kicked off my boots and pants, and I'd turned on the faucet to the hottest setting possible.

"Who…who did you…did you kill someone?" Violet asks softly, helping to lather the soap as she works it against my skin. There is no horror in her question, for my violence pales in comparison to someone thinking her life was worth so little. She looks up at me curiously, and I force myself to smile at her.

"Yeah. I did. But he deserved it."

My answer is all she needs. There is no point in telling her that it was Derek. Four and I had argued over this on the way home. He thought I should tell her, I thought I shouldn't. I saw no benefit to her knowing Derek had been alive and well. That he had the life in Candor that she had been robbed of.

Four pressed on, saying she'd seen him, and she must know he was alive.

I'd shaken my head.

Violet's stay in the asylum had been far longer than mine. I had the feeling she'd been treated to think he was dead, furthering the reassurance she belonged there. That she had hallucinated the sight of him. I tried to think of what she'd gain by knowing he'd been alive this whole time, or if it would only make it worse.

I could always tell her. When she decided where she wanted to stay, then I'd let her know. Now that I'd taken care of Derek, she'd be safe in any faction, no matter where she chose.

I look at her, her hands on mine, her gaze calm as she touches my wrist. There is a mark on my knuckles, and the reddened bubbles swirl over it as she scrubs higher.

"I should take a shower." I tell her, feeling the urge to wash this day away.

I'd walked with Four to his apartment. I hadn't gone in, but I'd stood there, while he told me he wanted to go through Derek's laptop. I had no idea what he could possibly hope to find, but I didn't stop him. I'd roughly thanked him for going along with me, and for keeping an eye on the door. I knew that had I asked him to, he'd have shot Derek without question.

I hadn't been surprised to want to do it myself.

I had been surprised when I didn't feel the same warm, fuzzy satisfaction that I'd always felt. Instead, I'd felt a sense of closure, of justice and relief, far unlike the previous times I'd ended someone's life.

Four had nodded and retreated into his apartment without saying goodbye.

"Okay. I'll um, I'll just wait for you. I was thinking maybe you'd want to eat dinner. Tori came by." Violet pauses, and she looks up at me. "She said we could join her for dinner if you were back in time."

"Yeah, we can." My answer is rough, especially when Violet doesn't let go of my hands.

"Can I ask you…did you kill someone…for me? Or not for me, maybe not for me. But you look like this was personal."

Her question is appropriate, and I nod immediately.

"It was for you. You won't have to worry about anyone finding you. Ever. Even if you don't stay here."

My words echo in the bathroom. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and I realize there's blood on my neck. On my cheek. On my collarbone.

"Oh."

I find myself right back in the asylum, standing in a bathroom with her while she watched me towel myself off after showering. I slowly pull my hands away from her, moving to rinse them off and turn off the water.

"Eric…I…"

Violet starts to say something, but she doesn't finish.

I lunge for her.

I claw her to me, my hands damp and my skin covered in her attacker's blood. I pull her flush against me, the slight form of her warm against my chest, and I tilt her head up to look at me. My heart beats differently than before, the same desperate way it always had, but only for her. Only for what she had never asked me for, even now.

This time, I'm the one to press my lips to hers.

I kiss her slowly, so slowly, until her hands find my hair. They dig into the back as she pushes herself closer to me. I can feel her nose against mine, her arms working to pull me close, and the stretch of her calves as she rises up to sink into my arms.

I kiss her gently, the action of her lips on mine pleasant and inebriating, until my chest is tight and tricky, making it hard to keep the air in my lungs.

She only breaks apart when I mumble her name, whispering it against her lips as my forehead finds hers.

We stay there, the bathroom warm and bright, until I've convinced myself she'll stay with me.


End file.
